In Nomine Et
by Grifterwitch
Summary: Set in Season Three. Dean and Sam find a way to save Dean's soul, but the consequences will start them on a path they never expected. Not Wincest. Dean/OFC based on non-canonical Biblical character
1. Rock 'n' Roll Damnation

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Author's Note: This is set in Season three, and so it has some spoilers if you haven't watched Seasons one through three. On the other hand it veers rather sharply from Season Three's plot, so after that point there aren't many spoilers at all. This starts, technically, directly after the last scene in "Dream a Little Dream of Me", but changes dialogue from "Malleus Maleficarum". Bella didn't get her hands on the Colt. There are aspects here borrowed from non-canonical Biblical literature, several world mythologies, and the table-top game _In Nomine_. This is my first Supernatural fic. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Rock 'n' Roll Damnation

"The way we were/ The chance to save my soul/ And my concern is now in vain/ Believe the word/ I will unlock my door/ And pass the/ Cemetery gates"- Pantera "Cemetery Gates"

Dean didn't know how to tell Sam that he's been given a potential way out of his deal. A long shot that he'd refused to even consider briefly as he wallowed in his admittedly pathetic, but manly, self-hatred. So after he confessed to Sammy, and to himself, that he didn't want to die it was only a matter of finding the right time to tell Sam that Ruby may have given him a lead. He found that moment after taking a well-deserved six hours to sleep off the stress of the last job. When he opened his eyes Sam was seated across the small motel room with bloodshot and heavily shadowed eyes, and his finger slowly tapping across his laptop's keyboard. Dean cocked an eyebrow and waited till Sam had looked over at him. "You get any sleep at all man?"

Sam shook his head wearily. "I've been researching Dean. I'll take a few hours before check-out and a few more in the car. I just have to finish this one passage."

Dean considered his brother for a moment. Then he put on his best innocent and confused face. "Why did you stay up all night researching when all we have to do is ask Ruby about the long shot she mentioned?"

Sam looked confused. Then his eyes narrowed and his giant fists clenched above the laptop. "What do you mean the long shot Ruby mentioned? You never said Ruby told you about a long shot Dean."

"Yeah man, outside of the Conquistador. I asked her if she was lying about there being a way for me to get outta the deal and she said yeah. Then she mentioned there was really only one escape, but there was no chance it'd work."

Sam's nostrils were flaring. Dean loved this look on his little brother. Easy vengeance for the multitude of times Sammy had left him so angry all he could do was try to hold his rage in until there was a target for him to destroy. "What was the long shot Dean?" Sam gritted out through clenched teeth.

Dean's grin dropped off. "She didn't say, and I didn't ask. But if we're gonna try this little brother we'd better start with finding a way to contact Ruby."

Sam looked at the screen of his laptop thoughtfully before closing it and standing. He stretched, and Dean was reminded, as always, of Sam as a child. When his brother reached a certain level of tired all the maturity Sam had gained over the years went right of the window. Dean let Sam collapse on the bed across from him before he stood and headed for the bathroom. Sam's last words before sleep came out strangled and thick. "How are we going to do that Dean?"

Well it was a fair question, but Dean didn't honestly know. Ruby came when she wanted and left when she didn't. More often than not she only came to speak to Sam when she thought Sam was in some kind of trouble that messed with her plans. Despite their enlightening conversation Dean still didn't trust Ruby very much, and he refused to believe that the demon had Sam's best interests at heart. He started the shower and undressed while he considered his face in the mirror. The dream version of himself didn't seem very far away, and Dean found that against his own wishes he was often entranced by his own reflection. Could there really be a day when his eyes would be that soulless black he had spotted on the face of so many enemies? A time when someone like the Winchesters would be staring at him with the same hatred he had for all the demons they had ever faced?

Dean didn't want to think about it honestly, and he pushed the shower curtain back and stepped into the punishingly hot water trying to focus on something else. It was Sam's habit to worry like this about Dean, and Dean needed to focus on what could be done instead of standing around and pitying himself. That was weak behavior, and Dean Winchester wasn't weak.

Dean let Sam sleep as he slipped out of the room to go down the street and get food for the two of them. He sat down in the car and a finger tapped him on the shoulder. Dean's entire body went whipcord tight and he spun around pulling his gun on the intruder. He stopped when the muzzle was pointed at Ruby's pretty blonde head. He saw that his hand was shaking slightly, and he lowered the gun and turned back to stare ahead. "That wasn't your smartest move."

She climbed carefully into the front seat and sat beside him. "You wouldn't shoot me now would you Dean? I thought we were over that?"

Dean cut a glare at her and then turned the car on. "You shouldn't sneak up on me. What do you want?"

She laughed and leaned back in the seat as Dean reversed out of the parking space and turned out of the lot to head for the nearest fast food place. Her fingers toyed with her blonde hair. "I believe it's what **you **want. Weren't you and Sammy interested in finding me?"

Dean's jaw clenched. "You were listenin' in on us?"

She laughed softly again and turned her whole body to look Dean head on. "You were talking pretty loudly. So you've decided you want to try that long shot I mentioned?"

Dean nodded tightly. It had come to this. The Winchesters depending on demons like a bunch of fucking saps. He felt his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he waited for Ruby to continue. When he had reached the restaurant and she hadn't he pulled into a parking space there and turned to look at her. "Well? Spit it out if you know it."

Ruby looked through the window at a family laughing as they made their way inside. "Was the Winchester clan ever like that?" Her tone was casual as she pointed at the happy people. Dean looked at them and then leaned back in his seat. His hand stroked the wheel as he considered.

"Just tell me what the damn long shot is Ruby. I'm not up for games right now."

Her winsome smile disappeared and she clasped her hands together in her lap."You have to agree Dean, that when this plan fails we go with mine. Training Sam to deal when you're gone."

Dean nodded immediately. The plan had to work. It had occurred to Dean that Sam being like him would be a bit of tragedy.

"There's a bar in Nebraska. Small town called Macy, you can't miss it. If you get there in the next three days you'll get to see a band play, and the person you want to speak to is the singer."

Dean turned to her incredulously. "The singer? In a band in Nebraska? You think some front man can help me avoid Hell?"

"Front woman." Ruby's voice was terse and she opened her car door. "Dean I didn't tell you this was a long shot for no reason. You have no idea how many people have gone to her for help. She's heard every sob story you can imagine. You can't bribe her with money or favors, and power means nothing to her. The chance she'll help you is pretty much nonexistent."

Dean was surprised that Ruby looked almost apologetic. Then he really considered what she was saying. "What is this woman? How could she possibly help me?"

Ruby shook her head. "I don't know the whole story, and what I could tell you wouldn't help you much. You'll have to feel this one out for yourselves. The best I can tell you is you'd better charm the hell out of her if you even want an audience. Oh and Dean?"

Dean tilted his head and waited for Ruby to finish. The demon stepped out of the car and then leaned back in to look Dean in the eye. "Keep the 'bitches' to a minimum around her. She's not like anything you've met before, and it'd be a terrible idea to make her angry." With that Ruby closed her door and walked away from the Impala. Dean backed out of the space and left the restaurant. He didn't realize till he'd parked back in front of the motel room that he'd forgotten to get food. He cursed quietly and then headed into the room. Sam was still sleeping, and Dean used this time to pack their belongings back into the duffel bags before he filled the ice bucket with water and poured it over Sam's head.

Sam jackknifed upwards with his eyes wide open sucking in air and fully alert. "What? What happened?" He considered Dean standing there with the bucket of water and grinning broadly. "Jerk."

"Bitch. Get up, Ruby made herself known and we're going to Nebraska." Sam looked at Dean incredulously.

"Seriously? Just like that? She showed up and told you we're going to Nebraska? What the hell is in Nebraska Dean?"

Sam asked his questions as he pulled out a change of clothes and distastefully removed his wet shirt. Dean took their bags out to the car so Sam would have a moment of privacy, and when he came back he tilted his head at his brother. "We're going to see some band. She says the singer can help, but I gotta be charming."

Sam turned around slowly, his patented look of disbelief firm on his face. "Your soul depends on you seducing some girl in a bar? That seems a little too easy doesn't it?"

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? Ladies love me and men want to be me." Sam's noise of disagreement had Dean laughing over his shoulder as he closed the motel room door and headed to turn in the keys. They had a long drive ahead of them. Sam was already slumped in the passenger seat when Dean returned. After the initial surge of water-driven adrenaline it was obvious Sam was crashing again. Dean turned the key in the ignition and reversed out of the parking lot for the last time, secretly glad to leave the seedy room with its terrible decorations behind. Beside him Sam had already leaned his head against the window.

"You know I'm going to get back at you for the water thing, right Dean?"

Dean laughed as he turned onto the back road and accelerated.

_ Macy, Nebraska_

Dean and Sam had been to a ridiculous number of small town bars, and Dean knew the look and feel of them better than anyone. Only one thing set this place apart from the multitude of whiskey-filled dives he had been in before, and that was the sheer volume of cars in the parking lot. Sam, being Sam, had researched Macy before they'd headed out this way. The population was just over 900, and so Dean had figured that they could expect twenty or thirty cars in the parking lot when they arrived. Three of those would belong to staff, and the rest would be "good ole boys" that didn't want to drink in whatever places the town itself had established for college kids and the economically blessed. Dean had never had a problem with backwoods bars before. Sam always looked out of place, but these were usually Dean's kind of people. Hard rock on the jukebox, cold beer, pool, and often a fight. He cast a look at the name of the bar, and then rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Jesus Dean look at this crowd. Can they even put that many people in there?" Dean considered the fullness of the parking lot again as he cruised through it looking for a space. When he finally found one he parked his Baby and got out without answering Sam. His eyes scanned the lot again before landing on the sign outside of the building again. The bar was called Rockyard, and Dean could see the usual suspects standing outside the door. He waited until Sam had stepped beside him to speak.

"Well Sammy if they're breaking fire code we have a badge for that." He grinned at Sam briefly, but he could feel that it was wrong on his face. There was a woman somewhere in that building and she may be able to save him from Hell. Dean didn't know what she was or what she wanted, but he'd do it and say thank you if that would keep him from becoming a demon. Beside him he saw Sam was struggling with something he wanted to say, and Dean wisely strode forward to avoid his brother's potentially girly speech. They'd had more than enough emotional blood-letting recently, and Dean refused to bare anymore of his soul in front of Sam anytime soon.

The bar was crowded, but it was surprisingly large inside. Sam and Dean took the last two spots they could find at the actual bar and looked out over the crowd. It was an unusual mix of the hardcase types Dean expected to see in a place like this, and what appeared to be a large number of yuppies and college kids. He shot Sam a meaningful look, and then watched as his brother scanned the nearby crowd for someone that would react well to his particular brand of puppy-dog charm. At the end of the crowd there was a stage that recessed back into the wall, and the outline of instruments on the dark platform gave Dean hope that this wouldn't be the kind of pop nonsense that a lot of the younger women in the crowd would have been interested in. He wanted to save his soul, but if it meant kissing some spoiled diva's ass about the quality of her empty lyrics he'd have a hard time being convincing. A man had to have standards, and when it came to music Dean's standards were very high. He felt Sam leave his side, and watched as his baby brother gracefully faked an accidental bump with a group of young women. They all looked at him suspiciously, and then Sam flashed the dimples and they became pliant and friendly.

Dean leaned back against the bar and watched Sam use his boyish charm to pump the ladies for information. Maybe Sam would be ok if it didn't work out. If Dean really did have to leave him. Since the psychic crap had ended Sam had lost some of that perpetual gloom. Well. Some of that particular perpetual gloom. There was still the knowledge that his only remaining family was supposed to be going to Hell for him. Dean could admit that it wasn't fair to Sammy, but it wasn't fair to Dean to have burn his brother's body after Jake sliced his spinal cord. Dean was lost in these thoughts when somebody slammed into him from the side. He spun around, and then lowered his fist when he saw the abashed young man in the Led Zeppelin shirt in front of him.

"Hey dude, I'm really sorry, it's just so damn crowded in here. I didn't spill on ya did I?"

Dean worked his easy grin onto his face. "No problem man. Not a drop. This is a pretty big crowd." He leaned back against the bar and scanned the crowd again before returning his eyes to the young man that had bumped him. Dean took a pull off his beer and then gestured with the bottle to his shirt. "You like Led Zeppelin?"

The guy's face broke into a giant grin. "Yeah man. Love them! Hey my name is Jared. What's yours?"

Dean made sure Sam was still in sight and doing well before he looked back at Jared. He held out his right hand and shook Jared's hand while he answered. "Dean. The crowd always this big here?"

Jared's grin got impossibly wider. "No way. This place is usually pretty dead. It's for the band. People come from three towns away to see them!"

Dean let his grin turn considering. He quirked an eyebrow at Jared as Sam rejoined him at the bar. "Are they really that good?"

Jared's laugh was easy and friendly, and he leaned towards Dean with a superior smile on his face. "Dude they're the best. You from out of town?"

Dean nodded and pulled off his beer again. Sam leaned around him and smiled at Jared, extending his hand. "Hi I'm Sam."

Jared shook Sam's hand too and then grinned. "You guys together?"

Dean choked slightly on his beer and Sam immediately began shaking his head. "We're brothers. Brothers."

Jared's face turned bright red. "Oh hey, sorry guys, my bad. Really. I'm so sorry."

Dean stared with narrowed eyes towards the stage while Sam assured Jared it was fine. Why did people always fucking ask them that?

"So Jared do you come to all these shows?" Sam was back in his groove, and Dean let him work Jared for information as he considered the stage again. Maybe they played country? People loved country out here. Dean wasn't a fan, but it would be better than pop music. It took him a moment to realize Sam was nudging him. He turned his head quickly.

"Huh?"

"I was just telling Jared he was right. We're from a label." Dean raised an eyebrow and then put his cockiest grin on and turned to look at Jared.

"Yeah. We're scouts. "

Jared's face was slightly awestruck, and Dean almost felt bad for him. Almost. Jared's voice was hushed when he asked, "Which label?"

Before Dean could lie Sam elbowed him hard and then leaned back around. "We're not allowed to say." Dean shot Sam an ugly look and then turned back to Jared with his cocky grin.

Jared nodded. "Of course man, of course. Hey listen I know the singer really well. Let me go tell her you guys are here. That way they'll be able to come see you after the show."

Dean considered playing the part of talent scout completely; telling Jared no they'd rather see the band play as they always did, but he swallowed that down with another gulp of his beer. The kid had already taken the bait, and Dean needed any in he could get with this singer. As soon as Jared had disappeared into the crowd Sam turned to Dean and lost any trace of a smile.

"Dean I don't know what's going on here, but it feels kinda off to me." Dean nodded in agreement and then gestured to the table of young ladies still casting Sam glances.

"Did you get their numbers?"

Sam glared at him shortly. "I was looking for information."

Dean nodded sagely and waved to the bartender that he needed another beer. "So what'd you find out?"

Sam sighed and rubbed at his neck. "They told me this is their third show. That the band plays every three weeks, and that this is the normal crowd size. She said we were lucky we got in because they have to close the doors after a while. She also told me that everybody in the band was local except for the singer. Said two years ago this strange woman blew into town, and a few weeks later she had a band."

Dean raised an eyebrow at this and started to speak, but Jared came back practically bouncing as he rejoined Dean and Sam. "Hey guys. I told Sari that you were here. The band is really stoked. She said she'd come see you guys after the show."

Dean tilted his head towards Sammy, and let his brother take this one so that he wouldn't say something sarcastic. "Is Sari the lead singer?"

"Yeah man. It's a nickname. Her full name is Sariel. I think it's a stage name, but I don't know. It's the only one she's ever given. Anyway, she never talks to people other than, like, the band and friends of the band, so this is a pretty big thing. She said she'd come to see you after the show, or you could visit her house."

Dean tried to keep his casual and cocky grin on his face, but he knew he was failing. He put down his beer. "So how long till the show-" His voice cut off abruptly when the lights went out. He felt Sam tense beside him, and then he heard cheers from the crowd and realized this was all a part of the act.

Dean's eyes were sharp as they adjusted to dimness in the crowded bar, and he saw the outlines of people moving in the darkness to take up their positions on stage. The crowd fell silent once all the movement had stopped, and then a long and somewhat sad note sounded, and the spotlights cut on. Dean felt his breath leave him as he saw the woman standing at the front of the stage for the first time. Her head was slightly tiled downwards, and her blue-black hair hung on either side of her face. She couldn't have been more than 5'2, but her body was all long and lean muscle. She had her eyes closed, and Dean briefly wondered if she was protecting them from the bright lights now shining in her face. Her lips were lush, and a dark blood red. There was a long scar that traveled from above her left eye, through the eyebrow, and stopped even with the end of her nose. When the music began in earnest Dean knew that he was in trouble. It was rock. Hard rock. Her eyes flew open, and landed on him first. All the arousal Dean had felt stirring in him died when he saw those blood red eyes.

When her voice traveled out over the crowd Dean resisted the urge to lean into it. It was velvety and low, and Dean was amazed at how sensual she sounded. The words hit him second.

"_If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, Then baby let's never be kind, Kindness is a luxury, Afforded to the blind"_

Beside him Sam leaned over and spoke in his ear. "Dean, do you see her eyes?" Dean nodded stiffly.

_"Put your hands on my body, and lead me to that place we know, Keep your eyes on me darling, I'll let you go slow."_

Her fingers stroked the microphone, and Dean distractedly noted that her fingernails were blunt and painted the same blood red as her lips. The same color as her eyes. Ruby had sent them to a fucking demon. A demon was supposed to save him from Hell. Was this irony? Sam would know but Dean was so angry that he couldn't even turn to look at his little brother. Ruby was having some kind of fun here, and Dean didn't appreciate the joke. This is what he had pinned their hopes on, and now he was going to have to see that crushed look in Sam's eyes. The look he was sure would be a pale reflection of the feeling he was experiencing behind his rage.

_"You call me a monster and maybe it's true, But I've never stopped hoping for someone like you, So rip inside me baby and find the prize, It's time someone could tear me down to size."_

The song had ended, and the crowd was roaring. Dean still couldn't look at Sam, although he could feel his little brother's eyes resting on him. He couldn't qualify everything that he was feeling. Rage. Pure rage towards Ruby, and this demon on stage, and himself. How could he have been so stupid as to think Ruby would really help him? Behind that, in the part of Dean where he felt things and denied them Dean was feeling crushed. He had begun, briefly and only in that sheltered part of himself, to hope that this was really an option. That there was a way to escape the fate he had sold himself too. Now he knew there wasn't. The demon leaned into the microphone. She was looking at him again.

"Hey Macy, it's good to see all of you. I've been told we have two special guests tonight, and we're going to try to impress them. So sit back and enjoy the show." If her voice had been sexy singing it was devastating when she spoke. Despite the anger that was fueling him Dean felt arousal surge again, and he grit his teeth and tried to paste that cocky smile back on as Jared leaned into him.

"They're really good aren't they?"

Dean nodded stiffly. The second song started, and he drank his third and fourth beer quickly as Sam looked on with pity. Dean slammed the empty bottle down, and then made an excuse to Sam as he headed for the bathroom. He glanced onto stage and saw that the demon was looking at him strangely; her head tilted as her full lips framed words he couldn't even hear. The music was good, and that only made him angrier. He pushed the bathroom door open, and stopped when he saw the corpse on the floor. Blood pooled around the body, and Dean could tell it was fresh. He backed out rapidly and looked around. With the law still hot on their trails Sam and Dean couldn't afford to be the suspects in another murder. If he walked away now the next person to come in might remember him. He raised his voice and shouted gruffly, "Somebody help!" The music stopped, and the silence was almost painful. He put on a panicked face and pointed to the bathroom. "There's a dead guy in there!"

Dean caught Sam's eye across the crowd, and as people reacted by fleeing or rushing forward he pushed his way to the bar to meet up with his brother. The two of them made their way to the front door, and Dean was surprised and put off when Jared followed them. They stepped outside into the cool night air, and Dean took a deep breath of it before he turned to Sam and pitched his voice low. "Stay or go?"

Sam looked around at Jared, and then back at Dean. "Stay."

Jared was babbling at the two of them, and his face was pale as he gestured wildly. "What kind of dead? Like dead dead? Heart attack dead or murdered dead? Did you know him?" Dean raised both eyebrows at Sam and then turned towards Jared.

"No. I didn't know him." He tried to keep his voice steady. "Why would I know him?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry. Sorry man. I get nervous and I can't keep my head straight. Hey look, Sari really wanted to meet you guys. Let me give you her address." Jared pulled a receipt out of his back pocket with a shaky hand, and then seemed to realize he didn't have a pen. Dean watched as a police car pulled up, and a man in khakis and a polo shirt greeted the officers. He pointed towards Dean and Sam, and then joined the two uniformed cops as they headed towards them. Sam handed Jared a pen and caught Dean's eyes. The brothers had been together long enough, and Dean knew Sam's "what do we do?" look better than any other. He shook his head shortly and then turned to the authorities.

Years of hunting had gifted the Winchesters with a strong understanding of body language. The two men in uniform followed the man in khakis with deference, and so Dean met his eyes instead of the cops when the little group approached. The man held his hand out to Dean first. "I'm Sheriff Winowski. You found the body?"

Dean shook the man's hand, kept his grip as firm as the sheriff's, and then watched as he shook Sam's hand. "Yeah. "

"You boys passing through, or did you come to see our local celebrities?" The sheriff was weighing them carefully with his eyes. Dean knew without having to consider it that this man was dangerous. He didn't put his smooth smile on, but kept his face grave and concerned.

"Yes sir. We're talent scouts for a label."

The sheriff nodded thoughtfully and then turned to Jared. "Jared, son, why don't you go on home. Your momma's gonna be worried about you if she heard this on the scanner. I'll catch a ride home with the boys." Jared lowered his head and joined the crowd that was trying to leave, casting a meaningful glance at Dean and Sam as he exited. The Sheriff turned his steely eyes back on Dean. "We have some work to do inside, but you boys aren't leaving town are you?"

Dean shook his head. Sam gave the man a quavering smile he had perfected when they were young. It was Sam's best "I'm trying to be brave" face and it always worked. Winowski's eyes softened as he considered them. "There's a pretty good motel off of interstate 970 called the Rip Van Winkle. I'd suggest you boys stay there if you don't already have accommodations."

Sam nodded and Dean gave the Sheriff a tight smile. "That sounds good. We'll head on over."

Dean and Sam walked silently towards the car, and only after they had gotten in and joined the dwindling line to leave did Dean allow himself to speak. His voice came out gruff and harsh. "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Sam glanced at him with wide eyes. "Which bitch?"

Dean checked his rearview mirror and then turned out on the highway headed towards 970 and the sheriff's "recommendation". "Ruby. Who do you think Sam? She sent me to a demon. What is a demon gonna do for me? Make another damn deal?"

Sam looked out the window. "But Dean, why would she send us here if there wasn't something that this demon could do? That doesn't make any sense. I don't really…trust Ruby, but she hasn't steered us too wrong so far."

Dean gripped the wheel tightly. "It's a damn demon Sam. Did you see the way that Sheriff was looking at us? We're probably suspects in that murder now, and we came all the way out here to find nothing but more Hell spawn."

Sam rubbed his neck and stared out the windshield. "We can't give up Dean. If Ruby sent us here there has to be a reason. She wants something from us, and she knows that dicking us around isn't a good way to get it."

"Well that plan is kinda fucked isn't it Sam?"

Sam gifted Dean with his best lopsided grin and held up a slip of paper. "Jared found a pen. We have her address."

Sometimes, Dean hated his brother's hopefulness. It was often catching.


	2. Message in Blood

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Two: Message in Blood

"Sail on, on a distant highway/ I've got to keep on chasin' a dream/ I've gotta be on my way/ Wish there was something I could say." –Boston "Foreplay/Long Time"

When Dean woke up Sam was once again sitting across the room at the little round table with the laptop in front of him. It always threw Dean off a bit to see Sam in that position, as his sleep-fogged brain fought to remember what motel they were in, what city, and what case lay ahead of them. He connected the dots till he reached Nebraska and Ruby's information. He rubbed his eyes and went to the bathroom without saying anything to Sam. When he returned Sam was holding a breakfast burrito behind him in Dean's general direction, as he scrolled down through what looked like Bible verses. Dean raised an eyebrow at that and then sat down on the edge of the bed to consume the burrito. When it was done he silently took coffee from Sam and waited for his brother to tell him what it was that he was reading.

Sam finished the page and closed the laptop. When his eyes moved to Dean the look there gave away that Sam was both concerned and excited. Dean wondered if they could have this entire conversation through a series of meaningful glances, and then shook his head and drank more of the coffee Sam had given him. Sam cleared his throat. "Didn't Ruby tell you that all demons were once human?"

Dean nodded and waited silently.

"Well I looked up the 'stage name' Jared mentioned. It means something. Something big Dean."

Dean fought between the urge to remain silent and force his brother to talk, or give Sammy the satisfaction of knowing he'd peaked Dean's interest. Finally he gave in. "What does it mean Sam?"

Sam's grin was bright, and he turned to Dean fully and gestured as he spoke. "According to the research I did I found that Sariel is the name of one of the archangels. At least in Judaism. The name translates roughly to 'Commandment of God', but it's what the Book of Enoch says that's really interesting. See-"

Dean held up a hand. "Book of who?"

"Enoch Dean. It's non-canon literature that they found. They dated it-"

"Sammy stop. Please. Just tell me what she is and why we aren't leaving this town as soon as possible."

Sam cleared his throat and leaned back. "It says she was part of the original Fall Dean. Like when Lucifer fell from Heaven? The Book of Enoch didn't make it into the Bible, but it's the only real account of the Fall anyone has."

Dean frowned and tried to follow this line of logic. "If that's true then…"

"Then Ruby's wrong. This demon was never human." Sam's eyes were shining brightly. "Imagine how powerful she is Dean. If the demon that holds your contract used to be human then this one has to be able to tell them to let it go. That must be why Ruby sent us here."

Dean closed his eyes against the hope in his little brother's face. "Sammy if she knew this why did she tell us that all demons were once human?"

"Well maybe she didn't know? God, who cares Dean? This is it! A real chance! Now shower and get changed. We're going to her house and you're going to charm you way into her good graces." Sam re-opened his laptop and went back to reading to emphasize to Dean that he was done talking.

Dean opened his mouth to argue, closed it, and then opened it again. "Why'd she fall from Heaven Sammy?"

Sam looked up confused. "What?"

"What did she do to fall from Heaven Sam?"

"Well it says that two hundred angels went to earth to be with humans, and taught them a lot of forbidden knowledge before God caught on and bound them into the Pit." Sam frowned at the screen. "She taught them knowledge of the moon, but I imagine that has to mean something else. But that's only one account Dean. In some of the others they say that she's an archangel of the highest order, and that she stays loyal to Heaven."

Dean looked towards the bathroom longingly and then back to Sam. "If she's never been human Sammy, and if she rejected Heaven, what makes you think she'll give a shit if I go to Hell?"

Sam's face closed off at Dean's harsh tone, and he pointed to the bathroom door. "Take a damn shower Dean. I'm not joking. If you don't at least try this I'll go alone and do it myself."

Dean looked at his brother for a moment, and then turned and slammed into the bathroom. He muttered to himself the entire time he showered about Sam and demons and all the rest of his terribly complicated life. When he came out fully dressed Sam was waiting near the door in his suit. He took in Dean's jeans and button up shirt. "Dean. We're supposed to be professionals."

Dean looked at Sam grimly. "Talent scouts dress like cool people Sam, not office drones." He walked past Sam and got into the Impala. Sam joined him seconds later, and they rode together in silence.

-

The house was pretty and simple. Dean took in the well manicured lawn, and the currently dormant flowerbeds. He walked onto the front porch and knocked once as Sam looked around, taking in the porch swing and the softly ringing glass wind chime. When the door opened the demon they'd seen last night stood before them. She was dressed in jeans and a black tank top despite the cold weather, and her long hair was pulled back into a messy bun. With her arms bare Dean saw that she had black wings tattooed on each arm from her shoulders down to her elbows. She smiled once and stepped aside to let them in. Sam held out his hand first, and Dean tried to control his irritation at Sam's easy smile. "Hello ma'am. My name is Sam and this is-"

"Dean. Winchester." Dean cocked an eyebrow at her and ignored her proffered hand. Sam gave him a harsh look. She simply considered him for a moment before turning and leading them deeper into the house. Dean studied the layout carefully as they walked into a living room that looked out over the side yard. The windows were large and allowed a good deal of daylight to shine in. The floors were all dark wood, and the furniture was comfortable and normal. She sat in an armchair and gestured to the couch across from her. Sam took it while Dean stood slightly to the right of it considering escape routes and plans of attack. When she spoke her sensual voice sounded amused.

"Dean and Sam Winchester. Have you come to kill me?"

Sam opened his mouth but Dean cut in. "Maybe."

She laughed once and the sound of it had Dean half-hard and sure that he was going insane. He'd faced enough demons that he knew they could be alluring, but this one was throwing him entirely off his game. Sam looked to Dean once before turning back to her. "We're not here to kill you. Ruby sent us."

She raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to know this Ruby? I'm afraid I'm a bit out of the loop these days."

Dean snorted and looked around. "The other demons don't want to hang out with you?" His voice was scornful but he saw that her eyes glanced briefly down and a strange look crossed her face.

"How much did Ruby tell you?" Her eyes studied Dean as he shifted under her gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nothing. She told us nothing other than that I should make sure to be charming to you."

"Is this what you consider charming Dean Winchester?" Dean watched her lips curl gently upwards and her red eyes widen.

"Well I haven't shot you yet."

She turned her eyes on Sam, and Dean relaxed slightly once out of her gaze. "Is that really why Ruby sent you? To make friends with the Outcast?"

Sam raised an eyebrow towards Dean before he spoke. "Well, she thought you could help us."

The demon's eyes narrowed for a moment as she considered Sam. She looked down at the floor again when she spoke. "She wants me to help you in the 'war'?" Her voice was scornful, and Dean felt anger surge above desire.

"This is pointless Sam. All demons want the same damn thing, and this one isn't different. She's not going to help us." Dean watched as her eyes lifted from the floor and met his. She was standing and in front of him before he could react, and she tilted her head and leaned closer to his face. Every instinct Dean had was screaming for him to pull the Colt out, but he held back and waited.

"Ruby should have clarified for you two that I am no longer affiliated with Hell. I am in a position of Neutrality and I plan to stay that way." Her voice became scornful again and still it held Dean's attention. "If you two want to put a bullet in me then I would suggest you do so. Otherwise take your insults and leave my house."

Sam stood suddenly with his hands out. Dean could tell from the panicked look on his face that Sam knew Dean was inches away from shooting the demon where she stood. "Wait, please. We're desperate and it's really taken a toll on Dean. He's sorry. Aren't you sorry Dean?"

It was the pleading look, and Dean knew he couldn't hold out for long against it. This was his only chance, and they both knew it. He took a deep breath and then turned to look into the red eyes so close to his face. "Yes. I'm sorry. "

The demon studied him intensely for a few moments, and Dean had the strangest idea that she was going to lean in and kiss him. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Dean watched as she took several steps backward and then slowly lowered herself into the chair. After she'd calmed her breathing she gestured to Dean to sit, and then turned to Sam. "Ruby told you my name?"

"Jared did. He was very helpful." Dean took a seat on the edge of the couch beside Sam.

"Yes well, if the band becomes famous Jared has a load of memorabilia to sell." She kept her eyes focused on Sam, and Dean was allowed to study her. The scar across her left eye looked old, and he noticed she kept it slightly tilted away from him. Her fingers tapped soundlessly on her knees as she spoke, and her lips twitched in a slight smile when she spoke Jared's name.

Sam leaned forward on the couch. "You guys are good. Why aren't you famous?"

"I would prefer we remain a local phenomena. I have no interest in becoming famous. I live a quiet life. I like it that way."

"Spend your time corrupting small town America and then taking their money?" Dean couldn't control it, and when Sam roughly elbowed him he let out a grunt and watched her reaction. She looked up at Dean solemnly.

"What part of Neutral did you miss Dean? I don't corrupt people. That would be considered an evil act."

Dean gripped his hands into fists. "All demons are evil. How does not acting on it make you better?"

She looked angry, but only for a moment. After that she slumped backwards into the chair. "Just tell me what you want to know so that I can be rid of you. I'm sick to death of your highhanded philosophical-"Her head turned quickly, and then someone knocked on the door. She stood abruptly and walked towards the front entrance. While she was gone Sam turned to Dean.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be playing nice Dean. Damn it this is our last chance!"

Dean looked at his brother's furious facial expression, and then turned towards the archway the demon had left through. "Sammy-"

She re-entered the room with the Sheriff behind her. She gave Sam a meaningful glance before offering the Sheriff the armchair she had been in. He took it, and she left and returned with a wooden dining chair from the next room. "Jared said I might find you two here. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions about last night? This is completely informal."

She looked at the Sheriff before turning to look back at Sam and Dean. Sam smiled and shook his head. "No sir we'd be glad to help."

"Well I have to start by asking where you both were this morning around six am."

Dean's heart clenched and he felt Sam tense beside him. "I'm sorry? What does that have to do with anything Sheriff? The murder was last night."

Sheriff Winowski shifted in the armchair and Dean watched as he pulled out his notepad and considered it quietly. When he looked up all traces of friendliness were gone. "Well boys there was a second murder this morning. That makes two murders since you two arrived. Maybe you can see why this concerns me a little."

Sariel cleared her throat gently. "Sheriff they've been here since late last night."

He looked at her for a moment before looking back towards Sam and Dean. "They checked into the motel last night."

"Yes, they did. After that they came over to speak to me about their label. I offered them a place to stay." She sent a meaningful glance to Dean, looked down and blushed a bit, and the Sheriff looked away and cleared his own throat.

Dean was flummoxed. The demon was covering for them. Getting them arrested for murder would have been a fairly simple way to get them out of her hair. The Sheriff looked at her sternly. "Sari you sure 'bout this? That's not like you."

She smiled weakly at the Sheriff. "No sir, it is certainly not." She looked away for a moment and toyed with her fingers.

The Sheriff gave Dean a thunderous look he had seen too many times in the eyes of boyfriends and fathers. He glanced downwards and tried to fake a look of shame. Sam finally broke the silence.

"So you see Sheriff we were here. Are there any other questions we can help you with?"

Sheriff Winowski stood and closed his notepad. "No boys that's about it. Have a pleasant day." He nodded respectfully to Sariel and Sam before giving Dean one last look. He left and the room was deadly silent. Finally Dean turned to the demon.

"Why did you do that?" He wanted her to look up and smile coyly at him. Wanted her to make one of the expressions he was used to seeing demons give instead of all of the soulful glances and sadness she'd had so far. If she would just use one of the expressions he was used to he was sure he could understand what was going on here. Instead she looked at Sam and ignored Dean's question.

"I think the two of you may have a case."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her. "What?" Dean felt his hands clench into fists.

"Sheriff Winowski's notepad. I could read it over his shoulder. It said that there were no fingerprints and no footprints at either murder scene. No trace evidence of any kind, and the wounds don't match any weapon they can think of. That sounds like a Winchester case to me."

Sam looked hesitantly at Dean, and then turned back to her. "We're not here for a case."

She smiled softly. "Solve it. Stop the murders. If you do I'll tell you whatever it is you came to find out."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. "You're starting to get really cryptic here lady. You wanna tell us why you care if a couple humans get killed?"

She looked Dean in the eye, and he felt that surge of arousal again before he tamped it down and focused on his ever present anger. "Because I like this town, and I like these people. But I can't help them."

-

The ride to the morgue was silent, and Dean could feel Sam brimming over with the need to discuss what had happened inside Sariel's living room. He tried to encourage Sam's silence with his posture, but Sam had always been bad about ignoring Dean's subtle clues. Instead his brother let out a sigh and then leaned back. "Dean we have to talk about this."

"No Sammy. We really don't." He sped up a little and took a turn off the highway to head into town. "See if we don't talk about it we can just enjoy the ride and work for the demon. If we talk about it we have to discuss why we're working for a damn demon."

"She wants us to help people."

"She's supposed to be really powerful but she can't help them herself Sam. Either she doesn't really wanna help them or she's too weak to do so. Either way this was a dead end. Ruby tricked us."

Sam shook his head and hit the dashboard angrily, earning a glare from Dean. "This isn't a trick. There's something there. Something she can do. Did you see the way that Sheriff looked at you Dean? These people like her. There has to be a reason for that. She's…different."

Dean pulled into the morgue's parking lot and turned to Sam. "She's a demon Sam." He turned the car off and exited quickly to make his point. Sam exited across from him and the two walked into the morgue with thunderous looks on their faces. Dean was used to Sam thinking he knew better, and throwing fits when Dean refused to buy into it. It didn't matter that she seemed interested in them helping the people of the town. It didn't matter if she asked them to help a hundred people, or volunteered at the homeless shelter, or fed starving kittens. She was a demon. End of story. Nothing else to see or learn and certainly nothing to be goddamn attracted too.

Sam sweet-talked the receptionist, and they slid past her into the morgue proper where they found the two victims. Dean opened the drawer for the body from this morning, and froze at the look on the young man's face. He couldn't have been older than eighteen or nineteen, and his eyes were frozen in wide horror. Dean studied the corpse's expression for a few seconds before he looked at the torn open throat. On the other side Sam was staring at another face contorted in horror, and another torn apart throat. Dean closed the drawer and considered Sam's expression.

"He was young." Sam's face was closed off. He looked up and saw Dean staring at him. Dean knew the look Sam was trying to control, and he knew that they'd be investigating this one whether the demon could offer them a prize or not. Sam was emotionally invested now. There was no going back. It was about to be a long few days of boring research and sad girly conversations about lost loved ones and secrets until they finally found the culprit and destroyed it. Dean was almost happy about that. Routine would be excellent.

Ruby was waiting for them at the Impala when they exited the library. She stared at the two of them, leaning indolently on Dean's car with her arms crossed under her breasts. Dean was glad that the sight of her only made him angry. He pointed a finger at her and strode forwards closing the distance between them quickly. "You sent us to a damn demon."

She gave him a disapproving look, and then turned to Sam. "Sammy could you please leash your brother. I'm finding him less pleasant with every visit."

Sam caught up to the two of them and stood next to Dean. "Ruby. Dean and I have some questions."

"Of course you do, and I'll answer all of them. Let's take a ride though." She was glancing at the people passing by in the parking lot and Dean understood what she was getting at, but he wasn't too eager to let her into his car again. Finally he rolled his eyes and moved around to the driver's side door. Sam opened the passenger side and let Ruby in. Once the car had started and they were driving towards the motel Sam turned in his seat and caught Ruby's eye.

"You told us all demons were once human."

Ruby looked at Dean in the rearview mirror. "Your brother has a poor memory. I qualified that by saying all the demons **I****had met**were once human. I've never met Sariel."

Dean clenched the wheel and pulled into the parking lot. He got out of the Impala and Sam and Ruby followed him into the motel room. She collapsed on Sam's bed and smiled up at the two of them. Dean was pleased that there was still not a hint of arousal at the sight of her sprawled out suggestively. "So, did the famous Dean Winchester charm win her over?"

Dean clenched his jaw and looked away. "I didn't try it. I don't see how making her think I'm a nice guy is gonna make her care about my situation. Plus, she can't even save some people in her own town. How's she supposed to help me?"

Ruby sat up quickly and narrowed her eyes at Dean. "Tell me you didn't insult her." Dean looked away. Sam tried to look diplomatic. Ruby groaned and covered her face. "You're an idiot Dean Winchester."

That was the last straw. Between his brother insisting he be polite to one demon and another constantly dropping in to belittle him Dean's flimsy control over his rage broke. He pulled the Colt and cocked it. "Listen bitch, if you don't start telling us why I have to be nice to her I'm gonna put you down for good. I'm tired of your attitude and I'm tired of your smirk."

All traces of smug superiority left Ruby's face. She looked at Dean seriously. "Because love made her break a contract before. You want to hear the story? Put the gun down."

Sam's hand covered his and slowly lowered the gun. They were silent as Ruby composed herself. "Ok, so I wasn't there but this is what I was told. Sariel was one of the first, and the first are all special. They have abilities related to their names."

"Commandment of God," Sam whispered and Ruby smiled at him.

"Ten points to the younger Winchester. So one day Sariel is down in Hell and some young demon comes up to her and whoever she's with and starts bragging about how he tricked a poor soul into damnation. Sariel goes and meets this soul and she falls in love. Real love. So she goes back and tells the demon to release the soul, but he refuses. So she makes him break the contract. No one is quite sure how, because we don't know how those names work, but it happens. Then she takes the soul, personally, up to Heaven and deposits it in the drop box or whatever. By doing all of this she's broken her loyalty to Hell which should make her a target, but she makes some kind of deal. She's not going to join either side, and they'll both leave her alone. She becomes Neutral, which may not seem like much, but it's unheard of before and since. No one is Neutral. So she can't do anything considered really good and she can't do anything considered really evil. If she breaks her Neutrality and declares a side she's open season for anything that holds a grudge."

Dean's hands were clenched so tight he couldn't feel his fingertips. Sam was staring at Ruby with his mouth slightly open. "You wanted Dean to charm her so she'd fall in love with him."

Ruby pointed at Sam. "Ten more points Sammy. Dean you're going to have to work hard to catch up."

Dean couldn't put into words what he was feeling. Demons weren't supposed to love. They weren't supposed to do good things. It was hard enough to believe that Ruby's fondness for her memories of humanity made her want to turn on Hell in the war. Believing that a demon was willing to turn her back on being what, if Ruby was right, basically meant a position of great authority to sing in a seedy bar and live in the middle of nowhere was too much. If it was true she was either insane or beyond comprehension. He considered Ruby's cool look. "I'm supposed to make her fall in love with me, and then spring on her that I sold my soul?"

Ruby nodded once. She didn't award him points. "That's why I told you this was impossible." Dean closed his eyes and flexed his fingers. Beside him Sam stepped away and sat in the room's only chair.

When Sammy spoke his voice was cracked and desperate. "Dean can do it. Dean can make her fall in love if that's what it takes." Dean's eyes flew to Sam and caught the look there. It was the face Sam made so many times when they were children and he needed Dean to tell him a lie to make him feel better. It was the face he'd had on that terrible Christmas Eve when Dean had finally told him the truth about monsters. It was the only expression Sam had that Dean wasn't even slightly hardened against. Because this was Sammy. His whole life had been about two things and with Azazel dead the only one he had left was his little brother. He covered his eyes for a moment, and when his voice came out it was so dead he barely recognized it.

"I can do this."

Ruby studied the brothers silently and nodded. "It's unfortunate she knew who you were. I thought she'd been out of contact longer than that. Still I doubt she knows about Dean's deal, and it should stay that way."

Ruby stood and hesitated before patting Dean once on the shoulder. She left without saying anything else. Dean turned to Sam once she was gone. They looked at each other for several minutes until Dean couldn't stand the raw emotion on Sam's face anymore. He turned away and got a tight grip on his feelings. "What do we do next for this hunt Sam?"

He heard Sam clear his throat. "Well we know that the two kids who are dead were best friends, and both of them were on the football team. The problem is we already have a cover story and if we change it to go snooping around the Sheriff is going to be more suspicious than he already is."

"So how do we find out what they've been up to if we can't go fishing for information?"

"We've got two people in town who can give us information. Jared and…Sariel. I'll talk to one and you talk to the other."

Dean rubbed his jaw. It had begun to hurt and he wasn't sure it would stop any time soon. He turned around and fixed Sam with a gaze. "I'll talk to Sariel. Maybe I can smooth things over a bit." Sam looked surprised, but he nodded and then went into the bathroom to change.

-

It was hard enough that Dean had to go into this house again, but the fact that Sam had just driven away in his baby made it almost impossible. He raised his hand to knock and she had the door open before his fist met wood. Instead his knuckles collided with the bridge of her nose, and she stumbled backwards with her hand over her face and a yelped "Asshole" in Dean's direction. Dean stood frozen in the doorway, mouth open and eyes wide.

They stared at one another in silence until Dean cast his eyes downward. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

She stepped back from the door and gestured him inside. He followed her to the back of the house, into a well-equipped kitchen. The smell of baked goods overwhelmed him, and for a moment Dean's stomach grumbled as he thought of a kitchen in Kansas, and a blonde woman he sometimes considered a stranger with a plate full of fresh-baked cookies. She pulled a chair back from the bar and pointed Dean into it before heading over to the oven. He watched her scooping out balls of dough onto a baking sheet, and when the timer went off she pulled out the current batch of cookies and put the new tray in. She switched the freshly baked ones onto cooling racks and then stood across the bar staring at him speculatively.

"I really didn't mean to hit you in the face."

Dean realized the soft music she was listening to was Pink Floyd. He pointed to one of the speakers mounted in the wall above the bar. "This is a good album."

She still hadn't spoken. Dean watched as she took the last of the cookies out of the oven. She pulled two of the cooled ones off the rack and put them on a small plate on the bar before pouring two glasses of milk. She sat down at the opposite end of the bar from Dean after depositing one glass in front of him. He looked at it speculatively.

"Is this poison?"

Her laugh almost made him hard again. She took one of the cookies and bit into it. She smiled around her mouthful and then swallowed. "You don't have to be sweet to me anymore Dean. We've made an agreement about payment. You can stop trying."

Dean wished that were true. He picked the cookie up and bit into it. There was a moment where flavors burst against his tongue, and Pink Floyd sang like a heavenly choir in the background. If there wasn't a gorgeous demon he was supposed to seduce and trick sitting across from him he would have believed this was heaven. "These cookies are delicious."

She cocked her head, and he realized whenever she did that she was turning her scar away from him. He pointed towards her face. "How'd you get that thing anyway?"

Her lips tightened and she bit into the cookie again before taking a drink of milk. "I made someone angry. What did you come here for Dean?"

So no asking about the scar. Check. He looked around the kitchen at the large amount of baked goods sitting on cooling racks. "Why are you baking all of these?"

She finished her cookie and drank down her milk before she answered him. She had turned away, and he could only see her hair, and hints of the right side of her face. "One of Jared's friends went missing a week ago. I'm making these for her family."

Dean finished his cookie in silence. Every time he thought he had a handle on her she squirmed out of his understanding. She wasn't supposed to be able to do good things, but this seemed like a good thing. He kept his mouth closed till he knew he wouldn't ask her about anything that would give his endgame away. Apparently he stared too long because she finally turned and looked at him. "Dean. You've been gaping at me for five minutes. Why did you come here?"

He swallowed. "Sam and I need some info and we can't follow our usual procedure. We've already got a cover story that doesn't allow for the usual approach. I was wondering what you could tell me about the two boys who were murdered."

She stood and pulled two more cookies off the racks. She put them down in front of Dean and refilled his glass. He didn't hesitate to stuff one down almost immediately. That tiny grin played along her lips and then disappeared. "They were good friends, played on the high school football team. Got into trouble once or twice with Sheriff Winowski for the usual teenage bullshit."

"Did anyone have a grudge against them? Did they start fights or maybe bully anybody?"

She shook her head and ran her fingers over the granite countertop. "Not that I know of. I'm not that connected in social circles around here, but they seemed to be fairly well-liked. Lotta girlfriends. You know how it is in these little towns. Those boys were part of Macy royalty."

Dean heard his baby growling her way up the driveway, and Sariel glanced towards the front door before going to open it. He heard Sam tell her hello, and then his little brother followed her back into the kitchen. Sam shot him a look from the doorway when he saw Dean with a cookie halfway to his mouth. Dean sent him the look right back. Sariel made Sam a small plate of cookies and his own glass of milk before she began to box them up. Sam sat at the bar and looked at the cookies. "Any luck Dean?"

Sam's gaze was heavy, and Dean nodded hesitantly before saying, "Not really. Popular boys that are well-liked. You?"

Sam leaned back in relief and shoved a cookie in his mouth. Dean watched his face light up, and then Sam closed his eyes in pleasure and made appreciative noises through a mouthful of chocolate. Dean couldn't control the smile that broke out over his face, and he turned to share it with Sariel. Her red eyes sobered his good humor. Her expression was strange, almost pained, and when Dean looked to her she turned her back to the two Winchesters and went back to boxing up cookies. Once Sam had cleared his plate and emptied his milk he turned to Dean.

"Well Jared said about the same thing. Except he added that he wasn't too fond of them." Sam's eyes were lit up, and Dean knew that look all too well. It's was Sam's way of being triumphant when he had beat Dean to an angle or an answer. He leaned in. "Apparently they were harassing a friend of his about a week ago. A girl named Anna Sterns." Across the kitchen a cooling rack rattled and fell with a crash scattering cookies across the floor. Dean and Sam both jumped at the sound, and then Sam crossed the kitchen and leaned down to help Sariel as she began to gather up cookies. Dean stepped around the bar and looked down at her bent head. Sam was holding a cookie in either hand and staring at her strangely.

She stood and passed Dean without a word, dropping cookies into the trash can and then walking back to pick up the cooling rack and put it in the sink. Still silent she picked up the box of cookies and handed them to Sam. When she made eye contact with Dean he saw what Sam had been so concerned about. Her red eyes had gone darker, and were swimming with black flecks. Dean took a hesitant step back and gestured to Sam to step away. Sariel licked her lips and looked away from them, and when she looked back they had returned to their original color. She pointed down the hallway behind them.

"The Sterns live on Donald Street. Big brick house with little cherubs in the yard. You can't miss it. Take them their cookies." Dean felt his insides go cold, and Sariel walked past the two of them and disappeared into the house beyond. Sam turned his confusion on Dean.

"What was that all about? Why are we taking this girl's family cookies?"

Dean swallowed and looked at the box in Sam's hands. "Because she went missing a week ago." Sam's face cycled through confusion to understanding and then darkness. He nodded and the two Winchesters walked out to the Impala.

-

They arrived on Donald Street without an issue, and pulled up in front of the big brick house. When Dean knocked he gave Sam a look, and Sam pulled it together and put on his most sympathetic face. The woman that greeted them had a worn and drawn look, but when they told her Sariel had sent them with cookies she gave them a tired smile. They followed her inside, and accepted the offer to have one before they left. Before the chocolate had tasted heavenly, but sitting in this woman's kitchen he found it was comparable to a mouthful of ashes. Dean let Sam begin the conversation, and then excused himself to the bathroom.

He wandered the upstairs of the Sterns' home till he found the room with Anna's name hanging off the door. Inside nothing had been touched, and he glanced over pictures of a bright and smiling young blonde. Several of those pictures included Jared, and he was surprised to see one of Jared and Sariel standing with the girl. Jared was looking at Anna in a way that Dean recognized all too easily. Unadulterated puppy love. Anna was saying something to Sariel, and Sariel was laughing. It was this sight that arrested him for a moment. He had seen her amused and angry and solemn, but this was something new. Her entire face was lit up, her scar was turned towards the camera, and her eyes were shut while she was trapped in the throes of her laughter. He had to seduce this woman. _Damn_.

He turned from the picture to focus on the task at hand. He found the diary under the mattress, and tucked it under his jacket before slipping back into the kitchen. Sam gave him a reproachful look, and they made a polite exit from the house. They had gotten back into the car before Dean reached under his jacket and handed Sam the journal. "Sariel is apparently close to Anna. There's a picture of her up there laughing with Anna and Jared."

Sam gave Dean a strange look and then went back to the journal. He flipped to the end, and considered the last entry carefully. He finally looked up. "So it appears that Anna found out the four kids on the football team were always so successful because they were using steroids. She threatened to expose them and Mark, the quarterback who's still alive, threatened to hurt her. She went missing the day after that. I guess she never told anybody."

Dean's hands were clenching the wheel. "So there are two boys left, and probably a very angry spirit of a girl they may or may not have killed."

Sam nodded grimly. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed a number carefully. Dean sent glances his way as Sam listened to the other end. After a few moments he said, "Hey Jared. It's Sam. I was just wondering where I can find Mark Dwemer. Sariel sent us with some cookies." Sam paused and his face clenched tight as he held back words. Dean knew how he felt. "Yeah man she is just too nice. So how do we get there?" Sam nodded quietly and then thanked Jared and hung up.

"He said we'd find Mark at the Dwemer farm off Bank Street. It's about twenty minutes away. We need to hurry before she kills another one."

Dean wasn't sure he agreed.


	3. Riders on the Storm

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

A/N: I'm editing this now two weeks after writing it, and I feel the need to change my earlier disclaimer. I've just started watching the show, and I wrote this before the events at the end of Season Three. If you've watched beyond that you'll realize what was a lazy plot device for me turned out to be a real storyline device. Which was…gratifying, but problematic in the sense that I said there'd be no spoilers after "Dream a Little Dream". Sorry about that.

Chapter Three: Riders on the Storm

"But my dreams / They aren't as empty / As my conscience seems to be / I have hours, only lonely /My love is vengeance / That's never free" –The Who "Behind Blue Eyes"

They reached the farm, and Dean cast a glance at the storm clouds above them before he looked ahead. He could see two cars parked at the farm house ahead, and he and Sam walked together up to the door. He rapped sharply and waited. When no one came he pounded on the door. He turned to share a grim look with Sam, and then he kicked the door in. They found Mark Dwemer on the floor, holding the last of his little circle of friends in his arms. He looked up from the body to meet Dean's eyes. He was crying. "She came out of nowhere. I couldn't save him."

Dean leaned down and jerked him up, and then he was pushing Mark backwards until he'd slammed him against the wall. Dean had been angry for days, and no one had been good enough to give him an outlet for frustrations until this fine and upstanding young man stepped in. Dean planned on using this chance. The kid's face had gone white as a sheet and Dean pulled him forwards and then slammed him into the wall again. "Tell me where you boys put her body."

Mark's mouth gaped open, and he looked at Sam, but Dean knew without looking what Sam's face looked like. Mark began to shake. "It was an accident; I swear it was an accident. We were just going to scare her but she started screaming."

How many horror movies had Dean heard that line in? He dragged the kid outside and looked around at the snow beginning to fall. "Mark you've got about ten seconds before I just stop giving a shit where you put her and let her come for you. You understand me? Tell me where I can find Anna."  
Mark pointed dismally behind the farm house. "There's an old root cellar. We put her in the root cellar."

Sam nodded and lifted the can of salt and the gasoline. Dean followed him. Mark trailed behind them crying. The minute Dean pulled the root cellar doors open he could smell the body of the young woman who had been missing for so long. He glanced to Sam and saw what he was sure his face looked like. Rage, pure, simple, and unadulterated rage that sang in his veins like the angriest of songs. He stepped forward and salted the body. He let Sam pour on the gasoline. They saw her briefly before Sam threw the match. She stood staring at them, her blond hair now lank around her pretty face, and her eyes full of hatred. Then she burned. Sam and Dean stood silently over the body as Mark cried in the corner. Dean turned around and stalked over to him.

"I should have let her kill you. I'm gonna stand right here and you're gonna call the sheriff. You'll confess to what you boys did. I don't care how you explain this part, but you never saw us here. Otherwise I'll come back and finish your miserable ass myself. Do you understand me?"

Mark nodded, and Dean walked off leaving Sam to monitor his phone call. He packed the salt and the gasoline back into the trunk. Sam joined him a few minutes later and they rode silently back to Sariel's home. They got out and found her waiting on the porch for them. She was barefoot and still in the same tank top she had been in that morning. The snow was falling with a vengeance now, and Dean recognized the beginnings of a hell of a storm. He reached out without thinking and took her wrist as gently as he could. Her skin felt like ice. She looked up at him, and he saw that the red of her eyes was muted and faded. She let him lift her out of the porch swing, and followed him into the house. Sam walked silently behind them.

Dean deposited her in the armchair, picked the blanket up off the couch and draped it over her shoulders, and then sat on the couch across from her. She rubbed her eyes and then looked back up. He saw that she was once again turning her face subtly so that her scar was hidden. He rubbed his eyebrow with frozen fingertips and considered her silently. He wanted to be disgusted, and he knew that he had been raised to see her in one flat dimension. Winchesters hated demons. Looking at her now, practically leaking misery as she stared at the two of them he felt something else entirely. He felt pity. He had begun to think of her as a woman instead of a demon, and he could pity a woman who had just lost what was probably one of a circle of friends almost as small as Dean and Sam's own. Beside him Sam cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry about your friend. "

Dean shot Sam an appreciative glance and then turned his eyes back to Sariel. She swallowed thickly and looked away from them. "Was it painful?"

For a moment Dean didn't know what she was talking about. Then he realized. "No ma'am. Quick. Accidental."

He watched her hands shake slightly as she rubbed her eyes. "What did you two come to ask me?"

Sam looked at Dean, and Dean took over. "We came to ask for your help. With the war."

She looked up from her hands to Dean's face, and he saw her appraising him carefully. "I can't. I'm restricted from such actions. Ask anything else."

Dean looked out to the snowstorm raging outside. He tilted his head and gave her his best Dean Winchester smile. "Can we spend the night then? I don't think we'll make it in the snow out there."

She nodded. "You boys want some dinner?"

"So there we are, and Sam's shaking like a leaf as this Rakshasa is bearing down on us-"

Sam glared at Dean over his plate and turned to Sariel. "I was not shaking. I just _really_ don't like clowns."

Dean had been surprised to learn that she was cooking when they had come over, and while she pulled the meatloaf out of the oven and steamed green beans he sat in the kitchen watching her carefully. Her eyes were still off a bit, and she seemed paler than before, but she kept shooting Sam small smiles as he told her stories of their time on the road. When she laid dinner out in front of them on the kitchen table Dean had to hold in his excitement. Home-cooked meals were few and far between, and Dean Winchester never turned one down. He shoved a forkful of beans in his mouth and looked up at her. She was sitting at the head of the table watching them, and picking at her own meal. Sam's stories had petered out as he began to inhale the meatloaf. So Dean, being man enough to eat and talk, took over.

Which had brought them to the Rakshasa story. "So yeah Sam's cowering down and-" Dean swallowed the mouthful of meat and groaned with pleasure "where did you learn to cook like this?"

Sariel's lips quirked in a small smile. "I've been living as a mortal for a long time Dean. I had to feed myself."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She looked away for a moment, and he saw her hand move towards her scar and then swerve away. When she met his eyes her smile was set and fake. "When I declared myself Neutral I was taken out of the game. When you've fought demons they've all been riding a person's body right?"

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. Across from him Sam lowered his fork and leaned forward.

"Well this isn't some girl's body." She tapped her shoulder and smiled ruefully. "This is my incorporeal form made corporeal."

Dean raised both eyebrows and looked at her. Sam sighed ruefully. "Her spirit made flesh Dean." He glanced at Sam and then turned to her.

"I knew that. I knew you meant that."

Sariel laughed. She laughed the laugh he had seen in the photo in Anna's room. Her head tilted back, her scar proudly displayed, and her eyes closed in mirth. The sound of it struck Dean dumb, and for a moment all he could do was watch her laughing. Dean had never seen a woman laugh like this, and when Sam joined her he didn't begrudge him a moment of it. If he could have breathed he would have laughed too. When she finally got her breath back she wiped tears out of her eyes and started to actually eat her dinner.

"So, what about those tattoos?" Dean tilted his head and watched her reaction. For a moment he was afraid she'd shut down like she did when he asked about her scar, but instead she smiled ruefully at her arms.

"Those are my wings. I can't have them when I'm like this. I don't age, I could probably withstand more damage than your average human, my reflexes are above average, but I'm not much better off than you guys when it comes to battle."

Dean tilted his head and leaned in. "Well that's good news, 'cause we're pretty damn good when it comes to a fight." He glanced at Sam. "Well I am." Sariel laughed again and Dean felt an honest smile spread across his face in response. The moment he recognized what it was he gut clenched and he fought to keep it genuine. He was charming her to trick her, and he knew that, academically at least, but for a moment there he'd kinda of forgotten that this was all a ploy. He looked at Sam and saw his brother was faking outrage, and that Sammy had that little sparkle in his eye.

"I'm sure Sam can hold his own in a fight Dean." Sam nodded and turned to her, but Dean cut in before he could speak.

"Well sure, if the fight requires brains Poindexter is all ready to throw down. But Sammy and I have a deal that the real heavy lifting gets left to the men of the Winchester family."

Sam glared at Dean. "I can take you any time ass."

"Oh yeah? Like to see you try." Dean tilted his head and made his best action hero face. When Sam began to laugh it dissolved into his own laughter, and Sariel joined the two of them from across the table.

"Ok boys. Enough bicep flexing. Does anybody want a drink?"

-

Sam was unconscious on the couch. Sariel had disappeared long enough to grab some blankets and cover him before she came back to sit down across from Dean. The snow outside had reached whiteout conditions, and Dean found himself sitting across from Sariel in the kitchen again as she poured them both more whiskey. He was vaguely offended, and it took him a moment to remember why. Asia was wailing over the speakers, and she was leaning forward over the table staring at him with the overly serious look only a completely wasted person could pull off.

He remembered why he was offended. "They didn't sell out. They evolved damn it. Why can't anyone see that?"

She squinted at him and then leaned back. "They sold out Dean. Give it up. _Black_ was the last honest album they put out."

Dean pointed a finger at her. "You may be pretty lady, but I got a gun that can kill demons and a lot of loyalty for Metallica."

She laughed and poured herself another glass. "Fine. Let's talk about something else. Best Floyd song."

Dean pursed his lips and considered. "Uh. 'Comfortably Numb'. "

She shook her head. "'Goodbye Blue Sky'." Dean looked up. Gears in his brain churned until the song came to the front. He leaned in towards her.

"That's a miserable song."

She nodded seriously and took a drink of her whiskey. "Let's change subjects again. Something other than music. Movies or something."

Dean shook his head. "Why is that your favorite song?"

She looked up and he saw something in the back of her red eyes that sobered him a little. He knew that look. He'd seen that look in the mirror every morning since Ruby told him he'd be a demon one day. "You ever wondered what Hell was like when you were sending all those demons back to it Dean?"

He looked away and swallowed with an audible click, attempting to control his facial expressions through what was an unwise amount of booze. Why did he drink so damn much? "Yeah. I guess it's crossed my mind."

When he looked back at her she was staring at him. Her head was tilted again, and he wanted more than anything to see that scar while she talked to him. He didn't know why.

"It's not something you can put into words. It's everything and nothing all at once. People try to describe it and they fail. It can be as simple as being alone, or as complicated as string theory. Floyd captured it in one easy line."

Dean was leaning in over the table towards her. His endless library of mental rock music circled to the lyrics in question, and he considered the lines. Then he looked up from the table and met her luminous red eyes. "' Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue sky'?"

The smile she gave him went straight through him. "That's the one. Hell is the perpetual knowledge that something good exists right outside of your suffering."

He leaned away from her. In that moment when she was smiling at him he'd been unable to consider anything other than whether or not those lips tasted like whiskey. He'd been close to finding out. The ruthless voice inside him that knew why he was here and what he was supposed to be doing had been cheering him on, but something deeper inside had told him to lean back. He listened to that voice as he looked at her lips.

"How'd you get the scar?"

She jerked back like he had hit her. Dean felt guilt, and then he clamped down on it. She looked away and tilted her head to cover the left side of her face with her hair. "When I left Hell they marked me. So that everyone would know who I was if they met me. It's my version of the mark of Cain."

He was up before he knew what he was doing. His body stumbled a bit and then found its way around the table. He moved the hair out of her face and looked at the scar. "Why do you hide it from me?"

Her eyes were very wide, and Dean noticed that her breathing had accelerated. "I don't know."

He shook his head and leaned in closer, his fingertips stroking down the left side of her face, almost touching the mark that cut through her cheek. "You do."

The power went off, and she jerked backwards so quickly Dean fell forward into the space her chair had been occupying a moment before. He heard the chair hit the floor, and he heard her hit the wall. The ruthless little voice inside of him that knew he had to get her to love him was cheering. The other voice was screaming. He wondered vaguely if that was his conscience. The room was pitch black, and he could hear her breathing against the wall across from him. He stood and stepped forward in the dark until he felt the heat of her body. He put his hands out and touched wall on other side of her. His voice came out husky and thick. "Tell me why you hide it from me. You don't hide it from Sam or Jared."

He heard her breath hitch, and then he felt her move and her lips were on his. He tasted the whiskey on her, and he felt the lines of her lean body pressed against him as she moaned into his mouth. He wrapped one arm around her waist and moved the other up to slide through her hair and grip it tightly. He held her to him while he tilted his head and slid his tongue along her lower lip. The power stuttered back on and she pushed him away from her. He stumbled into the table and saw her. Her hair was mussed, her chest and face were flushed, and she was breathing heavily. Her eyes were terrified.

That ruthless part of Dean shut up, cowed by his conscience. This wasn't a woman who was playing coy. This was a woman who'd seen a ghost, a monster, and that monster was Dean Winchester. And why wouldn't she be afraid of loving someone? The last person she'd loved had caused her to be downgraded to a mortal body, shunned by everyone she once knew, and left to rot slowly while the only people she could be attached to died around her. He looked down and saw that his hands were shaking. He clenched his fists and looked back up. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that. That was a mistake."

She shook her head and looked around the kitchen as if it was foreign territory. When she turned her dark red eyes back to Dean she was no longer trembling, but the color in her face was still high. She forced a smile onto her lips. "It's alright Dean."

Dean leaned down to pick the chair up and she jumped back against the wall looking at him warily. He lifted his hands to show he was giving up. "It's ok sweetheart. Not gonna touch you."

She looked around the kitchen again and then swallowed. "It's just-"

"You don't gotta tell me. I understand. You barely know me, I kill demons for a living, and I just forced myself on you a bit."

She shook her head and closed her eyes. Her fingers moved up and touched the scar on her face, finishing the action she'd aborted earlier. He watched as her trembling fingertips stroked the puckered flesh. When her eyes opened she looked more in control of herself. "I was a willing participant." The words held a weight he couldn't understand. " Is this the famous Dean Winchester charm?"

Dean gave her a lopsided smile and tilted his head. "Nah. That doesn't end with the lady looking at me like I'm going to hurt her."

She peered at him for a moment and her fingers left the scar. "Do you hurt a lot of women Dean?"

He understood what she meant, and he knew that if he lied in this moment she'd see it. Too much alcohol to properly compose his face, and his emotions were running too hot for him to consider what the right answer was. He went with the honest one. "The women that usually buy into my act don't care enough to be hurt."

She swallowed and looked beyond him at the window. "I'll make a deal with you Dean." He felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise, but he worked hard to keep it from showing in his face. "It looks like tomorrow you're not going to have much of a chance to leave. We may be here a little while. Get to know me, and decide if you want to win me over the right way, or the Dean Winchester way."

He swallowed. She was opening the door for him, and if he took this opportunity she may end up saving his soul from Hell. Or she may be so angry she sent him there herself. That voice inside him that saw her fear and felt terrible about causing it tried to argue that he should just insist that he and Sammy trek back to the motel tomorrow. That nothing good could come out of making her love him. Nothing good could come out of Ruby's plans. But he had to survive. He had to make it through for Sam. He had to make it through for himself. _She's a demon_. He let his smile come out as genuine as he could make it. "Deal."

-

When Dean woke up he was laying in a soft bed with a real comforter. It confused him at first, but when he smelled breakfast he remembered where he was. He peeked through crusted eyelids and saw that there was no little writing table across from his bed, and no Sam looking through occult sites to find info on their latest hunt. Just prints of famous pictures, and a poster from _Tombstone. _He slid out of the bed and stretched, but the usual crick from sleeping on a mattress older than himself didn't come. He walked out into the hall in his sleeping pants and t-shirt. There was a fire in the fireplace, and he heard voices coming from the kitchen. He pushed the swinging door open to find Sam sitting at the bar as Sariel flipped pancakes. She gave him a genuine smile, and he slid one onto his face to respond.

Sam grinned at him brightly. If it weren't for the fact that his feet were touching the floor Dean could have sworn he was the little boy he should have been, instead of the one who used to ask when dad was coming back, and when they'd have a real home they could settle in. Dean smiled back at Sam and then sat down at the bar. Sam pushed a mug of coffee towards him and he gratefully drank from it. She served them breakfast at the bar, and sat next to Sam to eat it. The silence was comfortable, and Dean felt a small twinge of guilt again before he stomped it into dust.

When she finished eating she stood and looked around the room. "I'm going to shower. You boys are in charge of dishes." Dean looked up in horror, but she was already slipping out of the kitchen. Sam turned and grinned at Dean.

"She told me you guys agreed we should stay till the roads are passable again at least." He punched Dean in the shoulder with a broad grin. "Good going man."

Sam's smile died at the expression on Dean's face. He raised an eyebrow. "Dean? Man, what's wrong?"

Dean looked away and bit down on his urge to yell. "It ever occur to you Sammy that this may be a shitty thing to do?"

Sam frowned at his brother's tone. "I don't understand?"

Dean laughed without any real mirth in it and stood to put their plates in the sink and turn on the water. He scrubbed at syrup as Sam leaned forward on the bar. Sam wanted to talk about this. Sam wanted to open Dean up and dissect him so that he could understand what Dean was feeling. Dean would be damned if he let Sam do that. Every time Sam tried to pull his feelings from him Dean was forced to recognize them and admit them. He didn't want to understand what was going on here. He had to treat this like any other job. Get the girl, save his soul, leave her in the lurch. It was that simple. Sam finally spoke.

"Dean, look, just tell me what's going on man. Is there a problem?"

Dean finished the plates and reached over for the glasses. The first one he picked up slid from his hand and shattered on the floor. He stared at the pieces and considered as Sam rushed around the bar to help him. He held up a hand and turned his eyes to his brother. "This is a job Sam. I make her fall in love with me, she does what only she can do, and then we leave. We don't talk about it ever again. You hear me? This will not be one of those girly movie moments you always want. I do the job and we fucking leave. Stop acting like she's your buddy."

He saw the hurt on Sam's face, but he couldn't care. If he cared about Sam's hurt he'd start listening to his own, and right now he couldn't afford to be kind or thoughtful. He had to be ruthless. This was a war after all.

Sariel considered the glass pieces for a moment before her big red eyes turned to Dean's hands. "Did you cut yourself at all?"

Dean shook his head and grinned at her. Behind her Sam was watching him with hooded eyes. Dean knew what Sam was thinking. He just didn't care. She took Dean's hands into her own, and he felt a surge of arousal, a thrill of triumph, and a wave of guilt all at once. She turned his calloused hands over and over in her own before releasing them and smiling up at him. "Well you don't look injured, so I guess it's not a total loss. You guys want to watch a movie?" Dean nodded and smiled while behind her Sam swallowed hard and forced his own grin into place.

Dean fell into an easy argument with her about movie choices until they finally settled on _Heat_. Sam took the armchair without a word, and she sat on one end of the couch. Dean took the other and smiled at her before the opening of the movie came up. He found himself entranced in the film, and he was startled badly when she suddenly stood upright. He turned and looked at her. For a moment he thought he'd see her like he had last night, trembling and afraid, but instead she looked angry. The movie cut off a moment later, as did the rest of the power. That was when Dean heard the knock on the door. She looked at the two of them. "Do you guys have your weapons inside?"

Sam nodded and Dean stood. He felt the adrenaline pumping already. He pointed silently towards the bags he'd brought in, and she nodded once before pulling her hair up and uncovering her scar. She stood taller than he'd ever seen her, and for a moment Dean wondered what she had looked like when her wings were more than just tattoos. Sam made a motion towards the windows and then held up a bag of salt. She shook her head and smiled softly. She turned towards the door and Sam pulled the sawed-off from the bag. Dean took out the Colt and checked its ammo while Sam filled his gun with salt rounds. He stuffed his pants pockets with them and then stood and followed Dean and Sariel to the front door. The knock sounded again, and for a moment it seemed like it was echoing across the now silent house. She opened the door and stood calmly inside of it. The man standing on her porch grinned brightly, his eyes two dark holes in his face.

"Hello. We've come for the Winchesters. Specifically Sam." Dean stepped out of the doorway behind her and held up the Colt. Sam moved into position next to him and tried to give the demon the same imposing glare Dean was giving off. Dean filed away that he needed to rib Sam about its ineffectiveness later. Sariel released the door, stepped back, and crossed her arms under her breasts.

"I'm sorry. No. They're my guests."

A small voice spoke behind the man. "Move Belius. I'll handle this."

The man moved and lowered his head respectfully. The voice was accompanied by the body of a little girl, and Sam drew in a sharp breath beside Dean. The little girl smiled up at Sariel. "Hello Sariel. It's been a long time."

Dean couldn't see Sariel's face from this angle, but he watched her bare foot press harder into the floor, and her muscles flexed into readiness. "Yes. It has. For a reason. As I told your lapdog I'm not giving up the Winchesters."

The little girl peered around her to look at Sam and Dean. She raised a small hand and waved. Then she turned her eyes back to look on Sariel. "Isn't this breaking the terms of your Neutrality?"

"Lilith I believe that handing them over would be just as much a break of the terms. As it is I am afraid I will have to hold on to my position of sanctuary for them."

Lilith leaned forward, and Dean watched as her eyes turned white. She looked at Dean, and a slow broad smile crossed her face. "They came to you for sanctuary?"

Dean gripped the Colt tightly and crossed the distance between himself and Sariel. His body pressed against her, and he felt the tenseness in her muscles relax slightly. He pointed the gun at the little girl. "I believe the lady told you to leave."

Lilith looked him up and down and then smiled brightly. "I'm going to be seeing you again soon Dean. After you're gone and Sam is all alone I'll take care of him. Then it will be me bringing back Lucifer." Behind him he heard Sam gasp. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Sam his best shut the fuck up look. He'd figured it out as easily as Sam had. This was the demon holding his contract. This was Sam's "competition". The two mystery villains had become one evil little girl.

She stepped back and gave a tiny curtsy to Dean. He shifted the gun in his hand. Her eyes moved over to Sariel and she narrowed them for a moment. "Sariel, why did they tell you that they needed sanctuary? Why did you give it to them? That's very out of character for you."

Dean felt her leg trembling against his, and he was overwhelmed with the need to put his arm around her, to slam the door on the bitch standing outside, to grab Sariel and pull her out of that white gaze. He held very still.

When she spoke her voice was powerful, and Dean was pleased to see Lilith flinch back slightly. "Get off of my porch Lilith. I will not ask again." Lilith stepped back into the snow, and Dean saw several figures in the trees lining Sariel's yard. The snow reached up to the little girl's hips.

"Fine. We'll wait out here. Take your time."


	4. Nothing Else Matters

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Four: Nothing Else Matters

"Showdown, shootout, spread fear within, without/ We're gonna take what's ours to have/ Spread the word throughout the land/ They say bad guys wear black/ We're tagged and can't turn back"- Pantera "Cowboys From Hell"

Sariel sat across from them on the armchair and studied them carefully. Dean made it a point to maintain eye contact and keep his face composed. Beside him Sam was fighting the same battle. She kept studying them, and finally she spoke softly. "Do you know why they're out there?"

Dean shook his head as Sam nodded. They looked at each other, and Dean tried to convey his shock in Sam without giving the game away. She swallowed and tilted her head. She had unbound her hair again, and it hung over the left side of her face. Sam finally spoke. "I'm marked for something, and Lilith wants to be it instead."

Dean studied the floor. Sam had mentioned that there was someone after him. Now he found it was the same demon that held the contract on his soul. Of course they didn't want to give him a long term deal. If they split Sam and Dean then his little brother was a sitting duck for Lilith and her troops. Ruby should have told them this was the plan all along. They could have been better prepared. He heard Sariel clear her throat and he looked up to see her staring at him inquisitively.

She turned her red eyes to Sam and considered him instead. "They wanted you to lead an army to start the war. They think a war will free Lucifer, and if it does you'll be his vessel."

Sam stood and clenched and unclenched his fists. He was staring out the window, and Dean followed his gaze to see Lilith standing outside smiling. Dean fought to keep his rage in check. Sam shook his head tightly and turned away from the window. When his voice came out it was low and harsh. "Is that what I am? A vessel for evil?"

Sariel surprised them both by standing and crossing the room to Sam. Dean watched as she put her hand on the side of his face and lifted it to look into his eyes. Her voice came out steady and soothing. "You are Sam Winchester. Brother of Dean. Son of John and Mary. You hunt evil, and you're very good at it. You are no one's pawn unless you let yourself be." Dean watched as Sam closed his eyes and tears slid out. He wanted to get up and hug his brother. He wanted to step outside and waste Lilith and anyone else that came to try and hurt Sammy. Instead he sat very still on the couch and held himself in check. Sariel wrapped her arms around Sam and held him tightly. "You're a good man Sam. I can see that, and I know something about good men. You won't have to worry about it."

Sam nodded his head and let her hold him. In other circumstances Dean would be amused to see it. Sariel was at least a foot shorter than Sam, and yet she was holding him like a little boy. Dean imagined this is what it would have looked like if Sam had ever spent time with their mother. When she released him she stepped across the room and pulled the curtains shut. She went through every room repeating the process. When she was done the house was dim, but they could still see by the meager light of the sun leaking in. She put her hand on Dean's shoulder, and without thinking he reached up and gripped it tightly. Her fingers felt very warm in the circle of his hand. When he spoke his voice was thick with hatred. "What's our plan of attack?"

She pulled her fingers from his and smiled softly. "As long as you stay in here they cannot enter."

Sam looked around the living room. "How much food do you have stored that doesn't need to be cooked?"

She turned her eyes to him and Dean saw her calculating. "A few days worth."

Sam shook his head and Dean put his hands over his face. He couldn't bring himself to state the obvious, so he let Sam do it. "We'll starve. This is a siege, and we're at a serious disadvantage."

She watched them both thoughtfully and then headed for the stairs. "Let me worry about that."

* * *

They passed the first day by cleaning and re-cleaning all of the weapons they had brought in, salting all the doors and windows, and chalking devil's traps in front of each entrance. Dean had a breathless moment where Sariel passed over the line of one of the traps, and then he released that breath when she stepped out of it. She gave it a cursory glance before looking up at him. Whatever she saw in his face made her smile.

They ate cold leftovers that night, and they set up pallets in the living room to sleep by the fire. When Dean woke the next morning he was facing Sariel, and her eyes were closed. She was lying on her side, and he saw that her hand had escaped the sleeping bag and was tilted towards him. He reached out and took it, feeling how cold it was after being on the floor. He closed his eyes and fell back asleep. He woke to Sammy laying more logs on the fire and looking at them. Sam gave him a heartbreakingly sad smile, and Dean closed his eyes against it.

For breakfast on the second day they ate the fresh fruit she had in the kitchen, and drank the last of the milk. They roasted hot dogs in the fireplace for lunch. Somehow they began telling stories again, and this time Sariel told her own. She told them about the woman who taught her to cook, and about famous people she had met over the course of history. Dean realized the sound of her voice was the only thing that eased the constant tension in his muscles. Outside the world was frozen, and demons prowled in the hopes of taking his little brother. Inside the three of them sat in a warm circle and banished those fears with their voices. They had dinner in the living room, and she made Sam and Dean help her carry jugs of water upstairs to wash with. Sam had gone back downstairs to be on watch for the first part of the night, but Dean poked his head into the bathroom to ask her if she had any flashlights or candles. He didn't think they'd be going to sleep anytime soon. She had stripped down to her panties, and her back was to him. The scar on her face was bad, but the scars on her back made him ache. Long cuts stretched from the waistband of her underwear to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She turned and looked at him quietly.

"They are rather hideous aren't they?" Her smile was tight and sad.

An internal battle raged within Dean, and he swallowed hard and stepped forward. He didn't speak, but turned her back so that she was facing away from him. He knelt behind her and leaned forward, pressing his lips to one of the thick lines and kissing it lightly before trailing his tongue up the length of it. He heard her gasp, and he looked up to see that her hands were gripping the edge of the tub and her head was tilted down. He licked a path up each scar before he stood and turned her around. He saw the tears in her eyes, and he pushed her hair back and licked up one that had escaped down her facial scar. He held her chin and tried to express everything he wanted to say with his gaze. He'd never been harder in his life.

He didn't want to trick this woman. He wanted her to love him. He wanted her to want him. She had seen through him without trying. She knew his life and she didn't turn him out for it. She loved his music, and his movies, and she was strong and kind. He didn't care what she had done to end up in Hell. He was going to Hell and he thought he was a pretty good guy. Most of the time. When he spoke his voice was rough and low, and there was no mistaking what the tone meant. "Say no if you don't want this. Say no and I'll go downstairs."

She considered him, and he watched at how she trembled in front of him before she bit her lip and stood upright. When she responded his cock twitched at the sultry quality of her voice. Had he thought she sounded like sex before? He'd been ignorant of what she was capable of. "I want this."

She led him without another word into the bedroom, and turned towards him before she pushed her panties off her hips. The room was cold, but the fire burning in Dean's stomach ruined the effect of the air as she moved forward and unbuttoned his shirt. He let her undress him, and watched as she looked over his own set of scars and wounds. Her fingers trailed along his anti-possession tattoo, old bullet holes, claw marks, glass and wood fragments, and settled an inch below his navel. She met his gaze, and he was amazed at the smoldering color of her eyes. He captured her mouth again and led her back towards the bed. When her knees hit the edge she sat down and ran her fingertips up his thighs before capturing his member in her hands. He gasped, and his knees almost buckled before he caught himself. She leaned forward and swirled her tongue around the head of his erection before taking him into her mouth.

Dean saw colors he'd never imagined before as her tongue worked across his heated flesh, and when she moaned around her mouthful he pulled back before the night ended too early. He pushed her shoulder gently and she lay back. There was no hope that this would go as slowly as he wanted. He knelt before her again and took one leg up in his hand before kissing his way up her foot to her ankle. He licked the crease there and she keened. He led kisses up her leg till he reached the juncture of her thighs, and then slid his tongue inside of her. Her pelvis jerked, and he held her hips down to protect his nose and listened to her throaty moans. He was almost afraid the sound and taste of her would be the end of him. When he slid a finger inside she began to beg. Her voice came out broken and husky. "Please, Dean, please. Inside. Dean."

He pushed himself up the bed and took a nipple into his mouth as he entered her in one swift stroke. She practically screamed, her fingers digging into his shoulders painfully as she arched against him. He could feel her muscles gripping him, and he took deep breaths to control himself. He began to move, and beneath him she was moaning his name and looking up at him with glazed crimson eyes.

"Fuck, Sariel, fuck. I-" He leaned down to kiss her, and she hungrily devoured his lips as they moved together. Her heels dug into the muscles of his ass and urged him on, and he moved faster. When he pulled back from her mouth she arched and cried out.

"Dean. Dean please." He stroked her sides and moved. He couldn't say he loved her. It would be unfair. He could show her though. He pushed himself up and gripped her chin.

"Look at me baby. Look this way." When her eyes met his he let his feelings show, just this once, and she gasped as he pushed inside and filled her. He was on a knife's edge, and he saw that she was right there with him, building to a cataclysm. The world exploded, and he had to look away from the intensity of her eyes. He fell on top of her, and they lay panting and sweating in the cold room. After several moments she gently nudged him off.

"Dean?"

He rolled so he was looking at her. She'd pressed the left side of her face against the coverlet. Her mouth was a wide smile as she stared at him. "You'd better wash up. I'll go after you. We can't leave Sam alone down there."

Dean nodded, and then leaned in and kissed her again. He held her eyes for a moment before he grabbed his clothes and headed for the bathroom.

His whole life there was only one woman Dean Winchester believed that he could love. When he'd told her the truth she'd turned him away, and he'd romanticized the memory of her as long as he could. He'd learned the hard way that when you lived the life of a Hunter you made very few close relationships, and those people you did bond with usually met you in the midst of violence. Facing death was a powerful force for bringing people together, and Dean worked hard to look at those friendships with the cold light of logic after the passion and rage fell away. He knew how short life was. If he asked her to save his soul he'd live, and that was great. Avoiding Hell was an extra bonus he couldn't ignore. He had to ask her, but he knew what the price would be. He knew what it would do to her.

He wouldn't ask her to save him. He would leave Sam with her and fight his way outside. Let them take him. She could care for Sam, she'd already shown that she was willing to. She liked Sam. If he asked her to save his soul he removed the tentative protections she had that he couldn't quite understand. He finished washing himself with the chilly water and then headed downstairs. Sam was wide awake and looking at him speculatively.

* * *

Dean flushed when he realized Sam must have heard everything that went on upstairs. He sat on the couch and looked to the closed window. "Sam-"he tried to give Sam a warning, but Sam spoke first. His voice was accusing.

"You're not going to ask her are you Dean?"

Dean gave his little brother a look that mixed sympathy and anger. "No."

Sam's hands were shaking. "Why man? Are you that eager to go to Hell? Are you that eager to fucking **die**?"

Dean stood and gestured hopelessly. "How can I tell her man? How can I ask her that? It worked too well Sammy. I fell for my own damn game."

Sam tilted his head and then he crossed the room and grabbed Dean's shirt. "I like her too Dean, but this is more important. We came here for a reason remember?"

Behind him Sariel cleared her throat. They both turned, and Dean felt all the blood leave his face. She stood in front of them in her pajamas, her hair damp and down around her face. Her eyes were calm, and she considered both of them clinically. "Oh please, don't stop on my account. Do you remember why you came here Dean?"

Dean looked away, his shame too great for him to even speak. Sam stepped forward. "Sariel we're sorry. This got out of hand. Ruby told us about the soul you saved, and how you loved him. Dean sold his soul to save my life. Lilith holds the contract. We came to ask you to break it." Sam's voice shook, and Dean heard the sorrow there, but when he looked up at Sariel all he saw was a calm mask.

"Ruby told you I loved that man?" Her voice was tight, but her features stayed placid. "So you figured if you showed up here and talked me into loving you I'd do the same for you? That was why you had to be _charming_?" She spit the last word out like a mouthful of poison.

Sam lowered his head and nodded. She turned her eyes on Dean, and he felt himself freeze inside and out. He wanted to speak. He wanted to tell her that was the plan in the beginning, but that it had changed. Just a few minutes ago he had been looking at the smile on her face and thinking that was the happiest he'd been in ages. Now he was only barely certain the coldness in her voice wouldn't kill him outright. He tried to force the words out, but all he could do was stare at her with his mouth slightly open. She shook her head and laughed bitterly.

"I never loved any soul in Hell. Ruby was sorely mistaken. I've never been in love with anyone before now." Dean felt his heart clench, and he stepped forward with his hand out to her, but he stopped before he came anywhere close. He lowered his hand and hung his head. He heard her feet moving away from him, and then the front door opened. When he looked up he saw that she had rubbed the outside of the chalk trap with her bare foot and broken the salt line. She leaned out of the door and shouted in a voice the shook the windows around them, "**Lilith**! **I summon you**!"

She stepped back, and moments later the little girl joined them inside. Lilith was smiling wickedly as she walked into the firelight with Sariel behind her. Dean tensed and moved in front of Sam. He had left the Colt across the room, and he knew he didn't have time to get it. If he could distract the bitch for long enough Sammy would grab it. He'd go down fighting like he always planned. Lilith stopped dead in her tracks when Sariel touched her shoulder.

She glanced back at the woman, and raised an eyebrow. "What is it Sariel? You brought me inside."

Sariel's eyes took Lilith in from head to toe, and she placed a palm against Lilith's head. Dean watched as the red of Sariel's eyes bled away, and left behind a liquid silver color. The tattoos on her arms ruffled, and slowly bled upwards till they became real wings that reached above Sariel's head, and ended at her knees. She spread them wide behind her, and the black feathers rippled in the breeze that seemed to surround the two. Her hand shook on Lilith's forehead, and Dean saw that Lilith's eyes had gone wide, and it looked like she was trying to back up, but was unable to make her legs move. Behind him Sam was gasping, and Dean felt all his muscles lock into place as he looked at Sariel.

When she spoke her voice rolled like thunder across the room. "I, Sariel, God's Commandment, revoke your contract with Dean Winchester. You are no longer of service to the Word. **Be gone**."

The screaming began after 'gone', and Sariel stood perfectly still as Lilith burned under the palm of her hand. Dean turned away, and waited till the screams had ended. Sariel didn't look at either of the Winchesters as she turned to the doorway. She stepped out onto the porch and shouted into the night. "Your mistress is dead. Leave before I do the same to all of you." There were howls, and Dean felt Sam put a trembling hand on his shoulder as they listened to the demons leaving into the night. The lights flickered back on.

Dean lifted his eyes to Sariel's, and he watched as her wings pulled tightly against her body and became tattoos once again. Her eyes remained silver. Her face was inscrutable as she stared at the two of them. Finally she spoke, and Dean was amazed at how flat and dead her voice sounded.

"You wanted to know what Hell was like Dean? Hell is not a place it is a feeling. It is the knowledge that you are living outside of Grace. People needed an enemy, so the Word created one out of whole cloth. Angels volunteered to leave Heaven and create the Pit, and we stood for everything humanity was supposed to shun. We were to watch them turn on each other, watch them harm each other, and punish them when they died. That responsibility, seeing the darkness man was capable of, and being removed from the source of Grace took its toll. My brothers and sisters began to lose their minds, and when they did that they Fell. They began to see Hell as the human souls saw it. They made humans like them through torture and fear. I resisted the Fall. That soul? The deal was false, and the man didn't deserve to suffer. So I broke the contract, and took him from Hell. This-" Her hands pulled her hair back brutally and she pointed to the scar he'd kissed only a few minutes before, "was my gift from Lucifer for my betrayal. To gain Neutrality I allowed my soul to be made flesh and permanently marked."

Dean saw that her fingers shook as she let her hair fall back down to cover her face. He choked on the words in his heart, and she simply watched him. "Your plan worked very well Dean. You've gotten what you wanted. Tomorrow the snow will have melted enough that you can both leave. I suggest you move quickly. There will be retribution for tonight, and I can no longer offer you sanctuary."

She turned her back on them and walked up the stairs. Dean jerked forward when she stumbled at the base of the steps, but held himself back. She'd never let him touch her again. He didn't deserve to. Beside him Sam was shaking, and he felt his brother's hand squeeze his shoulder as she turned at the top of the stairs and disappeared. He wanted to throw Sam's hand off of him. Put his best careless smile on and say something like 'well that was intense' or 'what a load off'. Instead he found himself on his knees. Sam was holding him tightly, and Dean was immensely grateful that Sammy cried for him.

* * *

The next morning they packed their things into the Impala. Whether the snow had begun to melt while the demons were outside, or if Sariel had something to do with it Dean didn't know, and he found he didn't care. They drove back to the Rip Van Winkle, and Sam went into the office to explain their absence. He got them a different room, and for a small fee retrieved the meager belongings they'd left in the first one. Ruby was waiting for them outside the door of their new room, and Dean opened the trunk and pulled out the canister of salt without saying a word. Ruby's eyes weighed him carefully, and the look of admiration on her face made him sick. "I can't believe you really pulled it off Dean. You dog."

He pushed past her and salted the line of the door and the windows. He saw her look of surprise before he slammed the door in her face. Sam stayed outside with her for several minutes, and Dean used that time to wash under the hottest water he could get out of the little shower. When he exited the bathroom Sam was standing in the motel room looking at him. He saw the hangdog expression on Sam's face and shook his head tightly. This was the part where Sam asked if he was ok, and told him it wasn't his fault, and he didn't want it. He wanted to feel this pain for as long as he could. It was all he had left of the experience, and he was going to guard it carefully inside of himself.

Sam surprised him. "Dean I'm so sorry. This is my fault."

Dean sat on the bed, and his voice was gruff when he spoke. "Which part Sammy?"

Sam's face struggled between guilt and shame. Dean wished he was anywhere else. "I knew she was coming back down the stairs. I wanted her to overhear us so I could force your hand."

Dean felt nothing at Sam's confession. Nothing at all. "Well that worked out well."

Sam stepped forward and knelt before Dean. He saw grief in Sam's eyes. "I'm sorry Dean. I'm so sorry. I can't face the idea of losing you. Of you suffering like that. I just…I was willing to do anything. I'm sorry."

And Sam was crying again. Just like that. Dean looked at his brother's silent tears, and held perfectly still when his brother wrapped his arms around him. He let Sam hold him for several minutes before he put his hands on the younger man's shoulders and pushed him firmly backwards. "Forgiven Sam. We never discuss this again."

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean shook his head. He had spent the rest of last night sitting beside the fireplace and staring at the staircase. Wondering if she was upstairs sleeping or if she was awake and thinking about him and his betrayal. He was exhausted, and if he let himself admit it fully, heartbroken. The triumph he should have felt regarding Lilith was overshadowed by the rest of it. There'd been a price for Sammy's life, and Dean had been a fool to think there wouldn't be a price for his own.

Sam accepted Dean's silent plea, and went to sleep.

* * *

_Three Months Later_

Dean woke to find Sam sitting at the small round table across the motel room from him. He had the momentary disorientation he always did. They were in South Dakota. Werewolf. He rubbed his eyes and walked past Sam into the bathroom. When he came out Sam silently offered him doughnuts, and he took one and bit viciously into it. He packed his weapons carefully into his duffel bag, and across from him Sam packed his own. They'd tracked the damn thing over ten acres of wilderness before finding the best place to lay their trap. Dean looked out the window to see that the sun was going down. He made sure the silver bullets were in his gun before he tucked it in his waistband and carried his things out to the car. Sam was only a few steps behind him.

They rode to the woods in silence, and took up residence on the forest floor. Dean laid out the bait, and then leaned onto a tree beside Sam. Dean tried to remember the last time he'd spoken to Sam. Had it been that morning when they were going to sleep? Or was it a few days ago when they spotted this thing's pattern and headed for the small border town? Did it matter?

They had fought and it had been an explosive one. Dean still had the remnants of the split lip Sam had given him, and Sam still had the black eye. He'd told Sam they were never talking about it again. Their time in Nebraska was a moment that would disappear into the long line of Winchester mistakes. They both heard the howl. Sam leveled his rifle and Dean pulled his. They split across the clearing, and waited on either side as they heard the werewolf rushing up the trail. Dean aimed and took his shot, but it was Sammy's that struck home. He stared for a moment at the corpse on the ground, and then crossed to Sam.

His hand reached out of its own accord ruffling Sam's hair, and in a gruff voice he said, "Good work there little brother. Let's celebrate."

Sam didn't argue as they hiked back to the car. When they found a roadside dive that was still open they went inside together. Dean looked around at the usual collection of bearded drunks, and the small number of women. A blonde caught his eye as she leaned over the bar and took a shot of something. Dean returned her smile automatically and sat at a table across from Sam. They had just ordered their first beers when they heard a male voice cry out, "You two! Hey!"

They turned around, and Dean felt all his careful control fade. His jaw clenched and he turned his back on the voice. It apparently didn't get the message, because suddenly Jared was standing next to Sam and looking at the two Winchesters with angry and narrowed eyes. Sam's face registered shock and surprise, but when Dean looked up he knew there wasn't a trace of emotion to be found. He'd been practicing this one in the mirror.

Jared seemed out of breath, and his hands clenched and unclenched above the table. "I came to see an old friend of mine, and look who I find. What the hell did you two do?"

Dean gave Sam a look. Sam ignored him and put a gentle hand on Jared's forearm. "What do you mean Jared?"

"I mean what did you do to Sari? When you left she put the band on hiatus. She's stopped wearing her favorite contacts, she's stopped leaving the house, and I can barely get her to talk to me. If I didn't bring her groceries I think she'd just stay in there and starve to death." Contacts? Dean had always wondered why everyone was so willing to accept her red eyes. Jared was looking between the two of them and breathing hard. Dean felt nothing. He assured himself he felt nothing. He cocked his lopsided smile at Jared.

"And we care because?"

Jared's eyes went very wide, and then he swung at Dean. Dean let him connect fist to cheekbone, and he relished the pain as he stumbled out of his chair. Sam was grabbing Jared before he could throw another punch. Dean looked up and laughed at Jared. "Well congratulations you're the only good guy here. You hit the bad guy. Now get back in your little car, and drive back to your little town. Tell her of your heroics. Hit me again though and I'll kill you."

Dean stood, and Jared looked up at him. Dean was surprised when Jared began to cry in earnest. "I thought you were nice guys." He left the two Winchesters standing stoically at the table. Dean ordered tequila, and the night swirled away from him.

* * *

Dean dreamed, and in his dream he was plowing into the little blonde from the bar. His hands gripped her hips, and they both seemed too drunk to care that his face was frozen in a grimace, and his thrusts were almost violent. He was surprised when he looked beside himself and saw Sariel sitting there, her eyes that same strange color of silver they'd been when Dean and Sam last saw her. She had her head tilted and she was watching the couple on the bed with a strange mixture of longing and disgust. She put her hand tentatively over his. He gripped her fingers tightly, and the Dean on the bed pushed his way to completion.

"You aren't going to die now." Dean glanced at her when she said it, but she didn't look at him. "You aren't going to die and you can't seem to find a good reason to start living again. Just this once Dean couldn't you fight for something other than Sam?"

When she finally turned to look at him he saw that she was crying, and he felt the tears on his own face.

He woke to an urgent need to vomit, and he stumbled his way into the bathroom and fell beside the toilet before he lost all the greasy food he'd eaten. His nostrils were clogged with the scent of smoke and cheap perfume. He couldn't remember leaving the bar, and he couldn't remember going to bed. Sam must have brought him back. He leaned his head against the cold porcelain on the tub, and had a brief but intense flash of Sariel's hands gripping the edge of a very different tub, of the taste of scarred flesh and tears. When he looked up Sam was sitting in front of him and wiping his face with a cool washcloth.

"We're two hours away Dean." Sam's face was sympathy personified, and Dean took a deep breath as he considered this.

"Ok Sam. Ok. Pack up."

* * *

The little house looked different then he remembered it. Flowers had begun to bloom in the beds, but weeds loomed above them. He walked up to the front steps and pushed the door open. Sam had stayed behind at the Rip Van Winkle, and Dean stepped into the house quietly. A song he vaguely recognized was playing over the speakers in the house, and he listened as it rolled over into another song he didn't recognize at all.

"Oh man look what the cat drug in/ It's got the dress though the color's gone/ That I gave my one true love on/ Oh man look what the wind blew home"

He walked across the wood floor and found her sitting in the living room beside the fireplace. It was the same spot he occupied his last night here. Her fingers were covering her face, and her long hair lay in messy tangles around her hands. He looked around the room for a moment, before kneeling in front of her. "Sariel?"

She looked up and he saw that her eyes were a dark and stormy grey. She blinked twice before she focused on him. Dean easily recognized the look of shock, and he made sure to pitch his voice low and soothing.

"And if I wear apathy's crown/ Don't call me highness/ It's a long a way down"

"Let's get you cleaned up." His hands moved automatically to her elbows and lifted her gently. She let him lead her up the stairs, and when she stumbled over her own feet he lifted her in his arms and carried her. She was lighter than he'd expected, and he wondered if Jared was wrong about her eating. She was still flesh. She still needed to eat. He put her gently down on the toilet and drew a bath. She let him undress her and put her in the water. Downstairs the music had changed, but here in the bathroom he watched her skin redden in the hot water. He soaped her hair and washed it carefully. She scrubbed herself mechanically, and Dean waited till she was done before he let the water drain out. She stepped out of the tub and stared at the floor with her scar hidden behind her wet hair. Dean watched as she dried herself off, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

"Oh what use is it to pretend/ That I have the strength for this anymore/ This is all in the world that she lives for/ But oh don't look in those eyes"

When she was finished he led her to the bedroom, and he pulled out clean pajamas and held them out to her. She looked at them blankly. Then she looked up and there was a small bit of life in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He swallowed at the lost sound of her voice. He put the pajamas down and stepped forward to crush her in his arms. She let him hold her for several minutes, before she pulled back and spoke again. This time her voice was slightly stronger. "What are you doing here Dean?"

Dean wanted to be flippant, or comforting, or any of the standard Dean personalities he was so used to showing others. Instead he found himself on his knees in front of her. He hung his head.

"I fell in love with you."

She laughed harshly and he looked up to see that she had begun to cry. "What?"

"I fell in love with you. I'm no damn good at words and feelings. Sam does that. I'm the one who takes action. I'd make a terrible boyfriend. I'm gone all the damn time, and that's not going to change. Sam has been the most important thing in my life for years and that might not ever change. I can't win you over with poetry and flowers. I'll wander in and out of your life and there's no telling when I'm going to find myself up against something that I can't beat."

He looked up and stared into her eyes. Would they be grey forever? Would he get to find out? "I love you. Can't say it any clearer than that. If you can see your way to forgiving me for what I did that's great, and if you need to take a swing at me then that would be-"

Her hand covered his mouth. "I can't be with you."

Dean felt his heart clench in his chest, and he swallowed all his protests as he looked at the grief evident on her face. Instead he pushed himself up shakily and looked around the room. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, this is awkward."

"Dean did you boys research me when you found out what I was?"

Dean nodded and looked back to meet her eyes. Her lips were pulled into a thin line and she put her hand on his shoulder. "Did you read the Book of Enoch?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and cast his mind backwards. "Well, uh, Sam did."

"Dean when I helped you. When I broke your contract…" She swallowed and looked away from him. When her voice came out again it was stronger, and he couldn't draw his eyes away from the hand resting on his shoulder. The fingers trembling. This didn't sound like the kind of refusal he was expecting. "When I broke your contract I broke my agreement for Neutrality. While I was Neutral I wasn't an angel and I wasn't a demon. I was this thing in between. Soul made flesh and such. By saving you I threw my lot in with Heaven. I'm an angel again. Still trapped in this body, but an angel none the less. Do you understand?"

Dean didn't. He didn't know why this would stop them. He reached out and took her bare shoulders in his hands, and he knew he was gripping her too tightly, but he couldn't stop himself. His voice was harsh and jagged when It finally came out. "Spit it out sweetheart."

"You're a human. If I make love to you I'll Fall." She wasn't looking at him, and he shook her softly until she did. Her eyes were very bright and very scared. Her whole body had begun to tremble, and Dean was overwhelmed with that need to protect her again, to hold her close and try to scare away the things that frightened her. He would love to do that, but Dean knew what scared her. He scared her. The same temptation and desire he felt was reflected in her eyes. He had felt this helplessness before when he looked at Sam. Sam trapped in a nightmare of lies and damnation and dreams he couldn't seem to stop. Duty and honor took a backseat to this feeling. Everything fell apart in the face of it and he couldn't make himself see beyond it.

"Do you love me?" He kept his hold on her eyes. He couldn't let her look away. Couldn't let her escape him. If she looked away he'd lose her. He watched her throat work, watched her struggle with her answer, and eventually she whispered it to him.

"Yes."

"Then we'll get past it. We can't be intimate. Ok. Fine. We'll just skip that part." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he saw the disbelief in her face. He gestured helplessly at her naked body. "I've been fairly good so far."

He saw her look down, and was momentarily delighted when she flushed and reached for the pajamas he had dropped, dressing hastily and avoiding his eyes. When she was covered she gestured to the bed and he sat on the edge of it. She took a position warily on the floor across from him.

"The way I see it we have two choices. Since Sammy and I left here that day I've been miserable. Can't sleep, hate eating, hunting gives no pleasure, and I haven't been funny in three months. This isn't working for me, but if you say so we'll go with option one: be miserable."

She bit her lower lip and gestured for him to continue. Dean thought that was a good sign. "Option two is a bit trickier. You tell me what the limits are, and then we follow them. You get the pleasure of my company, and I get to be myself again."

He waited with baited breath for her to respond. He could see her turning the options over and over in her head as she considered the possibilities of both. Finally she looked back up at him. "No penetration of any sort. No orgasms. The furthest we can go is hand-holding. Maybe cuddling."

Dean swallowed hard as the memory of the feel of her filled his senses. He nodded and gripped his hands together tightly. "Ok. I can do that. Will you be able to control yourself?" He raised an eyebrow at her and shared his best cocky grin. She covered her face, and for a moment Dean was worried she was crying again. Her shoulders had begun to shake. When he knelt down and gently removed her hand he saw that she was silently laughing.

* * *

Dean called Sam and told him to come over. Sariel was mixing pancakes when Sam came in the front door, and Dean met his little brother's eyes and tried to figure out the best way to explain to Sam what had happened. Sam took one look at his face and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Dean, dude, that's wonderful."

Dean nodded, glad he didn't have to explain it, and then gestured towards the kitchen. Sam turned around and lifted a large box wrapped in white paper off the porch. Dean glanced at it with confusion, but Sam was already walking towards the kitchen before Dean could ask him when he'd had time to buy and wrap a gift for her. Sam put the box down on the bar and approached Sariel slowly. She turned with the bowl of batter in her hands and looked at Sam carefully.

She put the bowl down and raised an eyebrow while Sam stuttered out an apology. "Sariel I'm sorry. I would have done anything for Dean, but I honestly like you and I hope you can forgive me." She looked past Sam to Dean, and he saw the smile curling at her lips. She patted Sam's shoulder gently.

"Alright. Enough of that. I've had my fill of apologies this morning. How do you like your eggs?"

Sam sat at the bar and Dean joined him. The morning sunlight shone through the big kitchen windows, and Sam was smiling softly as Sariel moved about the kitchen. She finally turned to eye the bar as she poured pancake batter into a sizzling pan and flipped bacon effortlessly. "What'd you get me?"

Sam looked at the box in surprise. "It was there when I walked up."

Sariel's face clouded briefly, and she pointed with her spatula. "Get it off my bar please." She went back to making breakfast. Sam shot Dean a confused look and reached for the box, but Dean beat him there. He ripped the paper open and pulled the knife out of his back pocket to cut the tape. Sariel never even turned around. When the box was open Dean saw two knives, each a little over a foot long and gleaming against the cardboard. Ornate lettering in a language he didn't know scrolled along the sharp looking blades, and a note sat on top of them in the same letters. He carefully took it out and showed it to Sam first with a raised eyebrow. Sam shook his head.

Sariel came over and deposited a plate of bacon in front of them before glancing once at the note in Dean's hand. "It says 'welcome back'. In Enochian. Now get them off my bar."


	5. Winds of Change

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Five: Winds of Change

"Out here in the fields/ I fight for my meals/ I get my back into my living/ I don't need to fight/ To prove I'm right/ I don't need to be forgiven"- The Who "Baba O'Reilly"

Dean tried to follow the transition and found he couldn't. If there was one constant in his life other than Sam it was that he could depend on change being quick and brutal. Dean was good at accepting that things changed even if he didn't like it. He was good at rolling with the punches. He found that he was terrible at letting it wash over him. He and Sam stayed at the house in Macy for three days before that itch that always caught him became unbearable. He was practically twitching with it as he sat on her couch and watched the explosions on the television. For the first day he had been grateful to simply be in her presence again. She had roped them into helping her clear the weeds from her flowerbeds, and Dean found himself mowing the lawn. He thought back to the Djinn and his silly wish for normality. This was close, he thought, as close as the Winchesters would ever get to having normal.

The second day was the beginning of the itch. Dean had spent the last few months wandering around in a reckless haze, and his hunting had been sloppy and unfulfilling. He wanted to kill a bad guy, be the hero, and have something to be proud of other than Sariel's yard being back to its best appearance. Every now and then he would catch her looking at him with an appraising eye, and he would turn away from that gaze. He was unsure if she would be alright with them leaving so soon after their reconciliation. So Dean buckled down and went back to work pruning bushes, and if he imagined a demon's head in between the sharp blades so what? A man could dream.

The first night he offered to sleep on the couch, and Sariel let him. The second night she took his hand and led him upstairs to the bed he had so briefly occupied. They lay silently beside each other, and eventually Dean pulled her against him. She didn't try to talk to him, and he was grateful. He couldn't express the relief he felt that they could still have this. That she had allowed him this close to her again. He didn't want to talk it out, and she seemed content with his tight hold. When he woke his arms were full of her, and her scent was deep in his nose, and he had a morning erection unlike any he'd ever experienced before. He extricated himself gently and then went to the bathroom where he stroked himself to completion before taking a shower and going back to the bedroom. He sat on the floor and watched her sleeping.

In sleep he could imagine she was just a normal woman who had fallen in love with a normal man. It was a strange feeling for Dean, who had spent most of his life looking down on Sam's longing for normality. When she opened those big grey eyes he felt another surge of the arousal he had felt earlier, and he saw the echo of it in her gaze. She considered him, and then slid out of bed and disappeared.

Sam and Dean ate like kings for the three days they were there, and on the third day as Dean twitched in front of the TV he felt a light smack to his shoulder. He turned to see her standing there, wielding a newspaper with a stern look on her face. "Sam thinks he's found a case. Rash of strange deaths in Pennsylvania. You guys are headed out tomorrow morning."

Dean tilted his head at her, but she simply stared at him. He wasn't sure if he was looking for permission or acceptance, but all he got was bland exasperation. Finally he nodded and stood, so that he could join Sam in the kitchen and listen to a long explanation of what they'd be looking for. Sariel stood at the stove and worked on a stew, and when they ate at the table that night they laughed and joked the way they had every night before.

In bed that evening he buried his nose in her hair and gruffly forced out, "You ok with this?"

He felt her sigh, and the movement reminded him that she was attractive, and in bed with him, and off-limits. He bit his lip grimly. "Of course I am."

He was going to ask again, but she elbowed him rather firmly. "Dean. I know what you are and why. I'd be disappointed if you didn't want to go hunting. I'm just sick of watching you walk around the house moping like Christmas won't come. Stop acting like Sam."

His laughter filled the bedroom.

She sent them off with a wave and a smile, and Dean found himself waving back as he backed out of the driveway. Sam was looking at him strangely, and he let the distance between himself and Macy grow before he finally gave in. "What Sam?"

Sam grinned and looked out the windshield. "It's good to see you being all girly. Proves you're human."

That night Dean cut Sam's hair.

* * *

Dean considered the printout of victims as Sam tried to eat his breakfast and glare Dean to death at the same time. When Dean finally looked up from the list of names and deaths to Sam's glare he smiled lightly. "Yeah Sammy? What can I help you with?"

"You know this is war right? That it's unacceptable to cut a man's hair while he's sleeping?"

Dean laughed softly as he dropped the papers on to the table and stretched. "Sam, one day you're going to realize that you can't beat me. I'm always ten steps ahead of you."

Sam's glare changed, and he gave Dean his most mischievous grin. Dean felt a tease of concern at that look, but he put it out of his mind, and went back to finishing his ham and considering the list of names. Ten deaths in ten months, and all of them tourists to a town called Reading. There was no set pattern between them other than their status as tourists. No age or sex that linked them all together. He turned the pages over before the waitress could see what they were studying, and gave her his best flirtatious smile.

As Wanda giggled and walked back for their check Dean considered how easy it was to fall back into the motions of _before_. Before he was marked for damnation, and before Sam spent all his time mourning Dean and trying to find a way to release Dean from his deal. When the check came Wanda added her number, and Dean left her a generous tip and a wink.

Once they had settled in the car Dean glanced at Sam spread out on the passenger side, flipping through dad's journal and touching his hair every now and then. "Hey Sammy. What are you thinking? Spirit? Demon?"

"I don't know Dean. This doesn't really fit any of the patterns we usually see with spirits. As for demons, well, there'd be other signs and I'm not seeing any of them."

"Dad got any suggestions?"

"Well, there's nothing connected to Reading or the surrounding area. At least not yet." Sam's brow wrinkled as he flipped through the worn pages of their father's cribbed and sloppy handwriting. He closed the journal finally and considered Dean's stack of tapes with a wary eye. "This might be something we haven't considered. We'll just have to do more research."

Dean reached into the tape collection and sifted through it before selecting his favorite Pantera tape. He pushed it in and turned the volume up, watching as Sam gave him a look of distaste and turned back towards the window. He'd never admit it to his little brother, but he loved to watch Sam research. It was boring, and Dean would never argue that, but it gave him a view of what Sam must have been like in better days. He had hated having Sam far away. Hated not knowing if his brother was all right. Still, Sam had the right to be normal. Dean knew before Jess' death it was all Sam had wanted, and he'd fought their father tooth and nail to let Sam try his hand at it. He wouldn't trade riding into danger with Sammy for the world, but sometimes he wished he could have known Sam when his brother was happy and free of the constant stress of Hunting. He accelerated slightly, and let the sounds of the music carry him away from his own thoughts.

* * *

_Reading, Pennsylvania_

They had been here three days, and Dean was beginning to hate Reading. It was too big, and the people didn't know each other well enough for the sort of easy fact-finding Sam and Dean were so good at. The only lead they had so far was that all of the dead tourists had visited Stokesay Castle just outside of the city. The tour guide there had a fine time talking about the history of the castle and its many hauntings. She had an even finer time flirting with Dean, and he let himself charm her out of her socks. She admitted that she had taken four of the dead tourists on their last sight-seeing trip. She leaned on him as she told him that they had all been nice people, and that only a few of them had been interested in the history of the family that once owned the castle. Dean had asked her to meet him at one of the local bars, and he found himself sitting across from her with a beer in his hand as she batted her eyelashes and sipped at her martini.

"Well they say Mr. Heister's fiancé didn't like it. That she thought it was spooky the first time she set foot in it. The family didn't stay there full time, and his kids sold it just a few weeks after his death."

Dean leaned in and cocked an eyebrow at her. "How'd he die?"

She took a deep breath, and Dean couldn't help but notice that she leaned forward when she did, and that her breasts pushed her shirt out in the process. She was a well-endowed lady. "Heart attack."

Dean bit back his frustration and smiled at her. "I see. So is it his ghost that haunts the Castle?"

She nodded with wide eyes. "I've seen him wandering the halls before. You're sure interested in ghosts aren't you?"

Dean flashed her his full grin. "You have no idea."

Tiffany let her disappointment that Dean left her at her door without even a kiss be known, and Dean simply smiled at her wistfully. "Sorry darling, I'm spoken for."

He arrived back at the motel room to find Sam on his cell, talking animatedly to someone about what they had found so far. Sam's frustration may have been greater than Dean's. He plopped onto his bed across from Sam and waited till Sam grinned wickedly and held the phone out to him. When he put the phone to his ear a buttery voice asked, "So, how was your date?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, but Sam held his hands up and tried on his most innocent face. Dean toed off his boots and leaned back against the headboard. "She was rather disappointed I'm afraid."

He heard her husky laugh, and felt his cock twitch in response as he closed his eyes and imagined her face when she laughed like that. "Well that's good. Sam says the hunt isn't going too well?"

"Not yet. We're gonna break in tonight and see if we can't rouse a spirit or two." He considered a hole in his sock while he let her chew on his words. When she finally responded it was music to his ears.

"Don't get injured too badly Dean. Have a nice time."

He grunted his acknowledgement, and let silence spin out between them. If he was normal, and functioned the way Sam did he would have used this time to tell her he loved her. It was on the tip of his tongue to say it, but she cut in before he could. "Yeah Dean, I know. Me too. Goodnight."

He closed the phone with a smile.

* * *

Sam was walking beside him, their footsteps almost whisper silent on the stone floors as they moved through the bedrooms that once housed the Heister family. Dean was waiting for some sort of activity, and Sam was sweeping with the EMF meter everywhere he went. When they rounded the corner and saw the gnarled little man standing in the hallway Dean froze, and Sam looked up from his meter to open his mouth in silent shock. Lying in front of the tiny man was a kid Dean recognized from the tour that afternoon, and the hunched creature was carefully dipping his hat in the pool of blood spreading out around him. Dean pulled his shotgun, and saw out of the corner of his eye that Sam was doing the same. They fired at the same time, and the little man turned and ran, seemingly unharmed by the double blasts of rock salt.

His shoes clanged loudly across the floor, and Dean gave chase as best he could. When they'd crossed halfway through the castle Dean lost sight of the little man, and eventually even the sound of his metal boots crashing into the stone floor disappeared. Sam caught up to him, and bent over gasping. Dean clutched the burning stitch in his side and stared at his brother. "What…was…that?"

Sam shook his head and coughed harshly before sucking in breath. When breathing was an easy and reflexive gesture again Dean led them out to the car, and they drove back to the motel. Dean sat down on the bed and rubbed his calf muscles while Sam opened the laptop. It took Sam all of five minutes before he turned the screen towards Dean with a satisfied face. "It's not old man Heister Dean."

Dean peered at the illustrations dancing along the page before raising an eyebrow and looking at Sam speculatively. "A Redcap?"

"Yeah. The lore goes that they hide in the ruins of old castles and kill interlopers. Vicious little bastards have to keep murdering so their hats can stay wet with blood."

Dean closed his eyes. Where was the dignity in this? "So, they're called Redcaps because their hats are red?"

"They're fae Dean, but they're not affected by cold iron like the Changelings were. We're going to have to approach this one a bit differently."

"Sam." Dean opened his eyes and looked at his brother. "We're hunting something that was named observationally." Sam peered at Dean for a moment, and then huffed a small laugh as he turned back to his research.

"Not every hunt can be an incredible life or death challenge against insurmountable odds Dean. Sometimes it's just a little goblin with a stupid name."

* * *

Dean was regretting making fun of the thing's name. He'd woken to a pair of talons wrapped tightly around his throat, and heavy metal shoes pressing into his gut and choking off his air. He groped blindly for the phone he knew he'd find on the nightstand, and when his fingers brushed it he grabbed and swung it into the little beast's head. He heard the clanging of the bell inside the phone, and Sam sat up in bed instantly alert and looking around. His eyes landed on Dean, and he had time to raise an eyebrow before Dean felt those claws rake his shoulder and then wrap back around his throat. The little bastard had a death grip on Dean's back as he kicked at his kidneys and choked him.

Dean elbowed backwards wildly while Sam leapt from bed and circled around to the back of it. Dean felt the creature jerk, his windpipe dangerously close to crushed before the pressure released, and he gasped air with black spots dancing in his eyes. Dimly he heard Sam repeating Holy Words, and the thing screaming in pain. Dean reached under his pillow and grabbed his gun, stood up to join Sam, and then reconsidered, turning and grabbing the pillow up as well. He placed the pillow over the thing's screaming face, and then put the gun against it and fired six times. The Redcap stopped thrashing.

Dean lifted the pillow and surveyed the grisly sight before shooting his brother a look. In a whisper Dean managed to ask, "Not affected by cold iron?"

Sam shrugged, and Dean could see his brother was still on high alert. Dean imagined adrenaline was the only thing that had both of them standing, and it wasn't a new feeling. "Well they have iron boots so it seemed unlikely."

Dean winced and touched his bloody shoulder, before dropping his gun back onto the bed and sitting down heavily. "Seemed unlikely?" His voice was a harsh gasp. His throat was on fire and his shoulder wasn't faring much better. Sam nodded and considered the thing on the floor.

Dean leaned backwards rubbing his throat, and that was when Sam hesitantly added, "And it looks like I was right Dean. It's face…"

He looked down and saw that the little beast's face was rebuilding itself slowly. He pulled his gun again, but Sam ducked down and reached for its hat. The creature swiped at Sam and cut through his forearm, but Sam got the hat. Dean kicked it viciously while Sam dashed into the bathroom, and then Dean heard the tiny hairdryer start up. He looked towards the bathroom briefly, before a line of fire crossed his ankle and he reconsidered simply kicking it. He only had a few shots left, but iron seemed to gentle the Redcap for short periods of time. Dean pulled his gun back up pressed the pillow into its chest, and as one eye rebuilt itself completely Dean looked into it before firing the last of his shots.

It bought them enough time for Sam to dry the hat out completely, and Dean watched as the thing shriveled and died on the floor. When it was over Dean pointed to Sam, and then to the doorway. He didn't want to try talking through the pain in his bruised throat, and Sam understood without needing verbal clarification. There was no chance that those shots had gone off without an audience, and they needed to leave before the cops came. They threw their gear into bags, and then Dean hobbled out to the car while Sam stole towels before joining him.

They drove twenty miles out of town before stopping at a rest stop. Dean made Sam sit on the counter first as he cleaned and then stitched his little brother's forearm. His hands were steady as he pulled the last stitch and tied off the string. Sam made Dean take the counter next. The swipe on his ankle was only worth a bandage, but Sam hissed at the sight of his shoulder. "Eh. I'm still prettier than you." Dean's whisper brought a grunt from Sam before he felt his brother's firm hands on his shoulder, and the needle pricking into his skin. When the process was over Dean was left with clenched fists and a renewed hatred of field medicine.

* * *

Sam stopped at a gas station and bought ice. He put a cup of it in Dean's hand and told him to suck on it gently and let the water drip down his throat. Dean gave him a sarcastic look, and then followed his little brother's instructions. Dean was reluctant to let Sammy drive, but he did. It took two days to reach Macy again, and by the time they got there Dean was able to go slightly above a raspy whisper, and Sam's left hand was gripping properly again. Sariel answered the knock on the door, swept them both with her eyes, and then stepped backwards to admit them in. The Winchester brothers hobble past her, and Dean is unable to stop his grin when hears Hetfield's voice on the speakers. He catches her eye, but she doesn't give in to the charming look. Her face is stern as she leads him into the living room and gestures that he should remove his shirt.

Dean lets her touch the wound on his shoulder, and stroke the bruises on his neck with gentle fingers. She washes his wounds first, and he's amazed by a strange numbing sensation that enters his aching throat. Dean falls asleep under her gentle fingers, and when he wakes up he sees that she is washing Sammy's arm and redoing popped stitches. She glances at Dean, a world of meaning in her grey eyes, and he hears the soft and sad chorus of "Nothing Else Matters" before his eyes reclose and he is drifting.

The second time they return to Macy they have been gone for a month. She greeted them at the door, and both Winchesters got a tight hug and a soft welcome. They fell into the same easy pattern as before, and Dean was glad to see that she still didn't seem to harbor any resentment for the constant here and then gone cycle of Dean's life.

As their visits back became more and more frequent Dean struggled with what he should call the house in Macy. At first he and Sam only referred to it by the town's name, and that seemed to work well. After their third or fourth stay he referred to it as their base, but another word circled his tongue. He saw the same thing in Sam's eyes, but the brothers knew better than to use it. Winchesters didn't have a permanent place. They were transients.

On their fifth visit they find the house closed and locked, and Dean deftly picks the lock so they can wait inside. He is fascinated to see she has added three new pictures to her mantle. Beside the one given to her by Mrs. Sterns, and _damn _if seeing her in that picture doesn't still affect him, there is a photo of Sam and Dean together arguing over the engine of the Impala. His eyes take in the next shot, one of Sariel that Dean himself took as she sat across from Sam in the kitchen, both of their eyes alight as they argue over some obscure piece of occult lore. The last picture is Dean's favorite, and he'll never tell anyone that seeing it on the mantle makes him glow a bit with pride. It is a shot of the three of them in the front yard. Sariel stands in the middle with her arms around Sam and Dean. He remembers her setting the timer, and he counted the seconds so he could deliver the perfect insult to Sam. Sam's head is turned slightly towards Dean, and his face is just on the verge of what Dean calls his "bitch" look, but not quite there. Dean's smile is cocky and wide, and between the Winchesters Sariel is a small divider, laughing with her eyes while her mouth merely smiles.

When she returns the smile on her face is worth all the trouble Dean went through pushing Sam to keep going instead of resting. He jokes about needing a key. She studies his bruises in bed that night, but doesn't touch any of them, and he falls asleep with her scent in his nose again. They stay for two weeks, and the morning they leave Dean watches her standing on the porch in the sunlight and staring at them. Her eyes glint silver before returning to grey, and she waves once before re-entering the house. Sam opens the glove compartment for the map and finds two house keys, each with a small tape label on them that has the word "Home" written on it. Dean pretends not to see the sheen of tears in Sam's eyes. He pretends there isn't a similar look in his own.

After that their returns are at all hours, and Dean is amazed that she is always awake when they arrive. They often find her sitting in the hallway waiting for them. Dean has begun to associate the sight of her with the sight of the house, and the first time he sees her outside of it he is momentarily thrown. It doesn't help that her appearance is at a particularly tricky time for himself and Sam.

* * *

They have stayed too long in one town working on a difficult Hunt, and their past has finally caught up with them. They find themselves in a holding cell staring across at Agent Victor Henriksen. Dean is trying to figure out how they'll escape when the deputy arrives to announce their lawyer has come. The two Winchesters are taken, cuffed and chained together, into a small room. Henriksen sits across the room with his back against the wall and smirks at them.

"You boys know that this time there won't be any information passed between you and your lawyer right? I'm going to sit right here and make sure you only get legal advice."

It's Dean's chance to make a smartass comment, and he's just about to when the door opens, and his eyes follow a pair of muscled calves up to a tight pencil skirt and along the line of a partially unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt. Above the high and firm breasts there is a familiar face, and when she turns he sees the scar and it all clicks into place for him. Her face is stern and her hair is pulled back into a tight and orderly bun. "Are you harassing my clients Agent?"

Dean sees Henriksen pull himself upwards and there's a brief flash of desire on the Agent's face before he holds his hand out to her politely and shakes his head. "No ma'am, of course not. Just reminding them that this is the end of their crime spree."

Dean watches her shake his hand firmly, and directly after she does his face goes slack and calm. She turns to the two of them and smiles slightly. "When will you two ever stop getting into trouble?"

Dean holds very still while she uses Henriksen's keys to unlock the chains that are holding him to his brother. Sam gives her a hug so tight it must hurt her a bit, and she smiles at him. When it's Dean's turn for a hug he makes sure that his hands stay out of forbidden territory, despite the pleasing way the skirt hugs her frame. "How'd you know we were here?"

Dean's only slightly amused when she glances at his little brother. "Sam got off a text message before they took his phone. I flew right down." Dean wonders about this, but doesn't ask her to clarify if she used a plane or her own wings. He looks at Henriksen's blank face carefully.

"You totally Obi-Wanned him. How long will he be out?"

"As long as I want him too. Let's get out of here." She leads them out of the jail, and people nod at her politely as she passes. It is the first demonstration of power she's given them since the night she broke Dean's contract and he's surprised to see it. He can't help but notice her eyes stay silver the entire time. Sam cuts in as they remove the Impala from the impound lot.

"We still have to get to that spirit." Her look is a mixture of understanding and bemusement. When they arrive at the abandoned gas station she is asleep in the backseat of the Impala, and Dean has done the math. She would have had to fly for three hours to get to them when she did, and he wonders how much energy it takes to flap wings for that long and at that speed. He covers her bare legs with his jacket and slides out of the car with Sam to finish the job they came to do. They slip in and out with a minimal amount of bruising, and if Dean's limp back to the car is slightly cheery Sam doesn't comment on it.

* * *

Sam's birthday rolls around, and Dean calls Sariel ahead of time to ask her for a favor. When he and Sam arrive there are no cars out front, and Dean feels a spike of disappointment. They walk through the soft sound of the Beatles, and when Sam pushes open the kitchen door he's greeted by the smiling faces of Bobby, Sariel, and the two Harvelle women. Sam's head swivels towards him for a moment, and Dean sees the childlike glee there. Sam's glee is diminished somewhat when Bobby and Dean spend dinner telling embarrassing stories about Sam as a child.

The Harvelles leave after dinner, and Bobby stays in the guest room. When Dean gets up in the morning he finds that Sariel is already in the kitchen with Bobby, and the two of them are discussing exorcism rites with an easy familiarity. Dean leans around her to steal a hash brown, and dances nimbly out of the way of her spatula. When he glances at Bobby he sees the older man's approval, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

Bobby sips his coffee and considers Sariel's back. "So you're the little lady I have to thank for summoning Lilith so the boys could kill her?"

Dean feels her stiffen slightly, but her voice is relaxed when it comes out. "I suppose so." He hadn't considered telling her his cover story, and he doesn't know how to explain to her that he just didn't want Bobby to react badly to the news of what she was, and what she is now. When she looks at him though her eyes are warm and affectionate.

"That was awfully brave of ya."

Sam shuffled in and Sariel pushed a mug of coffee at him before turning back to the hash browns. "Well what can I say? Dean's worth it."

* * *

It's not all sunshine and rainbows though, and Dean is somewhat glad of it. He knows that a thing too good to be true always is. The first trouble comes when he and Sam are on a hunt and he awakens in the middle of the night with a scream in his throat and his heartbeat wild. Sam is there before he can even make a sound, and he sees the wild fear on Sam's face. He can't remember what the nightmare was, but he knows that he can't have it again or he will go mad. Sam doesn't ask what it was, but Dean knows his brother stays awake beside his bed the rest of the night. It takes Dean two more nights of waking in terror to figure out that this is almost the anniversary of his deal. He begins to feel a desperate need, and he can't figure out what it's for.

Sam, as Sam always does, reads Dean better than Dean can read himself. He takes the wheel when Dean's nightmares have left him so weak and tired he can barely keep his eyes open, and he turns for Macy and _home_. Dean finds that it's become impossible for him to speak, and he's not entirely sure why. So as they head back, Sam breaking numerous speeding laws. Dean leans back in the passenger seat and tries to verbalize to Sam that he will be fine, and this trip is unnecessary. He knows they haven't even called Sariel to say they're coming.

When he wakes to Pink Floyd there's a moment that the howl of the hell hounds follows him into the world of waking reality. The line comes over the stereo "why we had to run for shelter" and Dean is screaming before he can stop himself. His fist thrusts out without his own control, and he hears the crack of the stereo's face. Sam jerks the car over onto the shoulder, his eyes wide and panicked as he looks at Dean's mutilated hand and the destroyed radio.

They ride in silence and at great speed. When they arrive it is just a few hours before the moment Dean would have been facing his own damnation, and they find Sariel asleep for the first time. She is lying on the front porch, and Dean feels the tension inside him release when he sees her there. He still can't make sounds come out of his closed off throat, but Sam wakes her gently and Dean watches as she opens her grey eyes and sees him. She is up and off the boards before Sam can take his hand back, and she stumbles towards him and puts both arms around him. There are no words, and Dean is grateful for it. Grateful that she knows he needs as much touch as she can offer him. She leads him upstairs and cleans and cares for his hand before taking him to bed. He falls asleep with her hand stroking his hair, and has no nightmares.

When he wakes her side of the bed is cold, and his bandaged hand doesn't hurt at all. Dean stumbles downstairs and finds no sign of her or Sam. He is rapidly becoming frantic when he hears the Impala pulling up outside. When he goes to look she is exiting the passenger side and laughing at something Sam has said. Dean feels outrage and jealousy, and knows they are ridiculous even as he lets them build. He puts the most indifferent mask he can on as he lets them approach him. Sam sees through Dean instantly, but Sariel walks into Dean's rage blind.

"You two look like you had fun." His voice is curt and hard, and it hits her in the face like a slap. He hates the look that crosses her face, and he hates the look clouding Sam's expression, but mostly he hates himself. Sam holds the keys out without a word, and Dean passes them to enter his car. He sees what they've done the moment he sits behind the driver's seat, and he almost gets out to apologize. In the place of his busted stereo they've installed an XM radio with a CD player, and the moment he starts it Styx's "Renegade" begins. He looks up to meet Sam's eyes weighing him carefully. Sariel has already walked away. He guns the car down the driveway and takes off. It doesn't help that he feels thrilled at leaving on the upswing of the intro.

He drives for five hours, and when he returns the two of them are sitting at the kitchen table, eating, and there is a plate set up for him. He stands in front of the swinging door and listens to their conversation. Sam is asking her questions Dean has been afraid to ask.

"So what does an archangel have to do? Don't you have responsibilities?"

Dean sees her shift in her chair, and he knows without being able to see her face that she is carefully not looking at Sam when she answers. "Eventually I will be given soldiers to fight in the war." Her tone is tight. He imagines Sam's face has softened, and that he has a look he often gives grieving widows and children that have lost their parents.

"Will we see you again after that? After this?"

"That depends on the soldiers Sam. Heaven will assign me someone and I'll have to focus on them."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. Are you and Dean gonna be ok?"

Her voice, when it comes back is so tired Dean wants to wrap her in his arms and carry her to bed. He wants to hold her till he isn't hurting her anymore. Till he isn't hurting anymore.

"That is entirely up to Dean."

When he enters the kitchen and sits with them he doesn't make eye contact, and they don't comment on it. He eats, and it's good, but he can feel Sam's gaze and he doesn't know what to do. He can't tell them how it feels, to know that this would have been the first of an endless number of days in Hell. That he can't fuck this feeling away, and he can't talk it away, and all he can do is lash out. That he was jealous of the ease she had with Sam, because they always have that careful distance between them. In the end he doesn't have to. He grunts a thanks for the stereo, and Sam let's that be the end of it.

After dinner he asks Sariel if he can sleep beside her, and she says yes. In the dark they lay side by side, and he holds her hand gently. He can feel her falling asleep, and eventually he asks, as quietly as he can in case she is already out and he can avoid it entirely, "Forgive me?"

She squeezes his hand, lifts it, places a lingering kiss on his now uninjured knuckles, and then places the hand under her face. He relaxes into sleep.

That night his nightmare is different, and he knows why immediately. They've never slept this close while being this raw, and he knows, the way one only knows things in dreams, that this is her nightmare and not his. In it he sees her kneeling in the middle of a group of beautiful people. The man at the front of this group is talking, and Dean can't hear him, but he sees that Sariel has her wings, that she is naked, and when the man tilts her face up it is unscarred and full of defiance. It looks like she's outside of an old church, and the group around her practically trembles with excitement as she is prepared for her punishment. The man holding her face tilts it some more, and Dean sees one of the knives that were delivered to her house is hanging loosely in his right hand. He uses it to cut the long line over her eye, and he tilts her face just so, and she is looking towards Heaven, her mouth open in a silent scream as he carves into her face. Her look is hellishly clear and aware. When the man drops her, bleeding and shaking on the ground, he throws the knife to one of the other demons and turns to Dean. He is Sam. Sam as Dean has often seen him in nightmares. Sam the Devil.

The demons descend on her, and Dean wakes with her at the same time. She is gasping for air, and he spends time stroking her back gently and thinking.

* * *

Dean's first serious fight with Sam comes after they dispatch a demon in Minnesota. Sam was locked in the room alone with it for several minutes, and Dean knows from the look on his little brother's face that the demon has said something that Sam has taken to heart. And Sam, Sam who always says 'we gotta talk Dean', 'we have to discuss this Dean', 'let's paint our nails and bare our hearts Dean', won't open up to him. He pulls onto the side of the road an hour away from home and gets out of the car. He hears Sam follow his example, and he crouches down beside the road and puts his face in his hands.

"What Dean?" And damn if Sam doesn't sound like him in that moment. He remembers his horror at Ruby's plan to make Sam into Dean. No one should be Dean.

"What did the demon say Sam?"

He hears Sam's derision and scorn, and his fists clench tight. "Oh, you want to talk now Dean? You want to chat like _girls_ about my _feelings_?"

Dean stands quickly and turns to Sam, and it's _hard _to unlock his jaw so he can speak. "I do when it makes you reckless Sam. Just get it out and feel better so I don't have to sit next to you pouting about something you should dismiss out of hand."

He usually knows the line with Sam. Knows how hard he can push before Sam lashes out. Today he has misjudged. Sam's fist collides with his cheek, and he is thrown backwards as Sam screams in rage. Sam follows him down, and his fists connect with Dean's nose, his eye, and his mouth before Dean can buck his brother off and reverse their positions. Now he is hitting Sam, and he's amazed to find Sam is still howling. If a motorist passed them now Dean knows they'd call the police. Dean stops the momentum of his fists, and Sam is still howling, but there's desperation instead of rage now. Dean shifts off of Sam so he can pull his little brother up, and suddenly they're hugging.

There's no one in the world who can know how Dean feels in that moment. He has spent his entire life protecting Sam, and since the night of the fire he's known that's the only thing Dean Winchester was ever really meant to do. Protecting Sam isn't just second nature, it isn't just his father's last order, and it isn't some desperate need for Dean to keep what family he has left. Dimly, in the part of him that recognizes and analyzes his own feelings, Dean knows that he was doomed to this self-destructive devotion the moment his tiny baby brother was put in his hands. When he saw all that innocence and potential for the first time, and he knew that the world would be **less **without Sam in it.

So he sits beside the road, and holds Sam while Sam cries, and when the cries become words Dean just lets Sam bleed his fear and self-doubt out. He listens as Sam repeats the demon's message. That he's still the vessel. That other leaders will come. That he'll always be evil. When Sam's voice levels and he whispers that Dean should just put him down now before he becomes what he's destined too, Dean wraps his arms around Sam so tight he hears his brother's ribs creak.

"No Sammy. No. We'll fix it. I promise we'll fix it."

* * *

Sariel looks at their wounds, but says nothing. Dean is grateful that she works on Sam first, and that under her careful fingers he can see the swelling of Sam's face reducing, and the lines of pain and rage around Sam's mouth smoothing out. She leads Sam towards the guest bedroom he's been using, and Dean is surprised to see a sign on the door. He's seen it countless times in homes they've investigated, each one gracing some young boy's door, proclaiming his dominion and warning trespassers with mock authority. Sam doesn't notice it, too taken by the large shelves of occult tomes that are newly installed within the room, the desk that sits across from the bed, and the large desktop computer sitting atop it. Dean's eyes meet hers, and he sees the pure delight she's taking in Sam's excitement. His jaw aches, and his face is throbbing, but he finds that in that moment he couldn't be happier. His voice is low and raw when it comes out.

"It's gonna be hard to explain these books to guests when they use this room." He's standing in front of the sign, and he sees the way Sam looks to him with a waver in his joy. Sariel takes the bait instantly without having to send Dean even the tiniest of questioning looks.

"Why would I let a guest sleep in Sam's room? The guest bedroom is upstairs Dean." Her voice is mock reproachful, and Dean wants to thank her but his throat is too tight.

* * *

The beginning of the end of their long dream comes eight months in. Sam and Dean have finally finished their hunt for the swamp witch, and they leave Louisiana with a large gift basket from the family they have saved and an aching need to be **home**. When "Freebird" comes on Dean thinks that this is the way life should always have been. A place to call home, a woman to go home to, and his brother in the seat beside him. Both of them are injured but the injuries are sweet. There's a nice family a few hundred miles back that didn't lose their son, and they are heroes. When they finally touch down in Macy they find all the lights in the house on. They can hear her arguing as soon as Dean pushes the door in, and he takes the Colt out and makes eye contact with Sam as they cross the threshold and enter the living room.

Sariel is standing in front of a man that Dean doesn't recognize. Tall, blonde, built like a brick shithouse, and staring at her angrily as she pokes a finger upwards into his chest and finishes her sentence with, "-not a fucking option!"

He cocks the gun, and beside him Sam is holding up the sawed-off. The man's eyes land on them, and Dean sees with a clarity born of years of training that the blue of his eyes is unnaturally bright, and that he is no regular person. He grins at them, and she turns to glance at Dean and Sam once before turning back to him. The box with the knives Dean now knows are hers, and were used to scar her, lays beside her on its side, discarded like trash. She keeps her focus, and her voice is deadly. "Just go."

The man nods once, and as he passes by Dean feels him slip something into his pocket before he is out the door and gone. No one has noticed this but Dean. Sam has already moved to Sariel, and she is studiously avoiding his face as he asks her who that was and what he wanted. Dean puts the Colt away, considers his little brother's face, and then reaches in his pocket to feel a small figurine, topped with what his fingers tell him are wings. Something inside him squeezes tightly, and he doesn't mention the figurine as Sariel avoids Sam's question and fiddles with her stereo until the music changes to Aerosmith's "Dream On". She will not make eye contact with him all night, and she sleeps on the couch with that one song on repeat.

They have stayed four days, and there has still been no explanation about the man that was there when they came home. Dean goes outside in the middle of the night on the fourth day and clutches the little figurine. When the man arrives Dean listens carefully to his proposal, and then accepts. He senses that this is the end of something, and he fears that all the sweetness that has entered their lives is that something. Still he makes the deal, because in the end Dean knows what he is, what Sam is, and what they both need to survive the harsh days ahead. He's willing to pay any price asked of him.


	6. Knocking on Heaven's Door

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Six: Knocking on Heaven's Door

"If we go again all the way from the start/ I would try to change the things that killed our love/ Your pride has built a wall, so strong that I can't get through/ Is there really no chance to start once again?"- The Scorpions "Still Loving You"

When he wakes he knows only that there is a funny taste in his mouth, and that his neck is aching. He opens his eyes carefully, and sees the front of a brick house. It's familiar but he can't put his finger on it. He is lying in the front seat of a car, and there is another man beside him. He pulls the mirror down and looks at his own face, and he both recognizes it and sees it for the first time. He feels panic as he realizes he has no idea how he got here, where he is, or what his name is. He wakes the man beside him, and sees the same look of confusion followed closely by shock and fear. He knows without asking that this man doesn't have any memories either, but he asks anyway in a voice that is gruff and just as oddly familiar as his own reflection. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?"

They stare at one another for a moment, before the man across from him feels around in his pockets and pulls out a battered wallet. When he opens it his face speaks volumes. The stranger shows him id, and suddenly the man has a name. Samuel Eckstein. Funny, he doesn't look Jewish. He follows Sam's example and finds his own wallet. There is relief at the sight of himself, smiling cockily in the picture next to the name Dean Eckstein. He swallows hard. "Hey man, I think we're related."

Sam peers at his driver's license carefully and then nods. "Ok, well that's something. So we're related and we're amnesiacs together. We must be close." This weak attempt at humor surprises Dean, and he laughs with an edge of hysteria. He points to the house.

"Do you recognize this place?" He can't help the hopeful note in his tone. Sam eyes it silently before nodding carefully.

"It looks familiar, but I'm not sure."

That's enough for Dean. He gets out of the car, and walks on shaky legs up to the door. His key ring has a small key with a battered label on it, and he uses the key in the door, enormously pleased when it swings open. He shows the key to Sam. "Looks like we're home."

There's music playing when they step in, and Dean smells something heavenly coming from the kitchen. Sam follows closely in his steps as Dean walks down the hallway and towards the door that holds the lovely smell. When he pushes the door open the sight that greets him has the same strange familiarity as everything else. A woman with long blue-black hair is standing at the sink, and when they come in she turns with a smile on her face. It dies at the sight of them.

She would be classically pretty Dean thinks, if not for the scar that bisects her eyebrow and travels down to the end of her nose. It takes her face out of the category of pretty and makes it something else. Unique and bittersweet. Dean watches her cross the room carefully, a potato in one hand and a peeler in the other. She drops them both on the bar countertop and steps up to Sam first. Her fingers touch his face and she raises her unscarred eyebrow. "Sam?" She turns to look at him. "Dean? What's wrong?"

Sam swallows thickly, and Dean takes a step back from her. He doesn't know why, but it bothers him to see her go to Sam first. She steps towards him. "Dean? Talk to me. You both look strange."

Dean can tell she expects him to tell her something horrible. Her body is braced for impact. He tries to make it sound light, but it comes out grim and raspy. "Who are you?"

She leads them into the living room, and Dean stares with fascination at the pictures on the fireplace mantle. The one of her laughing causes that bittersweet clench in him again; there is a shot of himself and Sam working on the car they woke up in, and one of Sam and her at the table in the kitchen. She looks so relaxed and natural with Sam that Dean begins to piece together the puzzle of how they know her. The next to last picture is of the three of them, and they have their arms around her as she stands in the middle with a smile on her face. He notices that she leans slightly towards Sam, and that his arm is more relaxed around her than Dean's is. The puzzle is complete. She must be Sam's girl. Which makes Dean an asshole, because it is obvious from the next picture that he has a serious hard-on for Sam's woman. He considers the shot of himself standing a bit behind her as she holds up a giant fish. The way his eyes are lingering on her from behind and the small and tender grin on his face add to his guilt. He can't help but wonder how Sam has missed it.

Sam's voice, reproachful, pulls him out of his reverie. "Dean. Focus man."

When he turns around she is sitting in the armchair, and he joins Sam on the couch so they can both look at her. Her fingers tap nervously on her knee as she looks at them. "You guys don't remember anything?"

"Nothing."

Sam is grim, and Dean tries his hardest to match Sam's calm tone. "We know we're related. We know we have a key to this place, and we call it home. We know we're Jewish."

She covers her mouth and turns her face away. Sam leans in, the picture of concern, and touches her knee. When she turns back Dean sees small tears are leaking out of her eyes, and that she is trying to cover a smile. "I'm sorry." Her voice is strangled with humor, and his cock responds instantly. "I'm sorry guys. It's not funny. It's really not." To prove this point she loses all control and laughs deeply, bent over and with her eyes closed.

"What is so funny about us being Jewish?" Sam's voice sounds like he's not sure if he should be offended or concerned. When she finally gets control of herself she wipes tears from her big grey eyes.

"You're not Jewish. Those are fake ids. Your names are Sam and Dean Winchester. You're brothers." She catches Dean's eyes, and the sparkle he sees there is flirtatious in the extreme. He's torn between desire and anger on behalf of his brother. Has she been encouraging his attraction? Oh god, has he been sleeping with his brother's girl?

When Sam clears his throat they both look at him. "Why do we have fake ids?"

Her face sobers, and she clenches her hands together for a moment before looking away from them. "Oh man, you guys are going to have a hard time with this."

Dean can't help himself. His gaze is fixed on her slim fingers, and he lets it travel up her tattooed arms and across her shoulders back to her face. He notices that she turns her scar slightly away from him, and this stirs something deep inside that he can't quite name. "Why don't you try us? I doubt you can beat a dual case of amnesia."

"Well. My name is Sariel. You stay here when you're not hunting and-"

Sam's eyebrows have risen to his hairline. "We're hunters?" He casts a dubious look at Dean's leather jacket and then down at his own clothes. "We're not dressed like hunters."

"You don't hunt animals."

Dean's head is beginning to hurt. He rubs absently at his jaw and tries to control his reactions. "What do we hunt?"

He watches her turn her eyes towards the windows before coming back to them. "The supernatural."

Dean is up before the words have fully registered, his mouth moving along with his feet. "Oh great you're batshit insane."

Her eyes narrow and he feels bad instantly although he can't say why. Sam looks just as uneasy as he does. He sits back beside his brother. "Ok lady, we hunt the supernatural. We're ghost hunters. That's great. Where do we mount the heads?"

"I've never asked." Her voice is dry and her hands are clenched into fists. She stands and looks at the two of them before taking several steps away from the armchair.

Sam is looking between the two of them with concern, as Dean and Sariel try to out glare each other. "Uh, hey, look, maybe we should go to a doctor or something."

Sariel shakes her head. "I'm sorry boys. There's no time to ease you into this." Dean watches her close her eyes, and when she reopens them they shine silver. Her tattoos ripple up her arms, and bleed outwards into wide black-feathered wings. She keeps Dean's gaze while she changes in front of them, and Dean finds himself standing again. Sam falls off the couch with an exclamation and scuttles backwards on his hands.

Dean doesn't know what to do, and he's sure his face is filled with shock and horror. It doesn't help that she's looking at him like he's hurting her. He tries to speak and fails, settling for cocking his head and pointing at her in a questioning manner. When she speaks her voice is the same sensual tone he's heard all night. "I'm the archangel Sariel." She waits for him to do something. Dean dimly registers that she seems to have forgotten about Sam as he steps forward and carefully touches her wings.

The feathers are softer than he thought they'd be, and he runs his fingers up them to where they join her shoulder blades. When she moans he pulls his hand back like he's been burned. Her eyes are closed when he comes back in front of her, and he sees that she is working hard to control some emotion. Her wings melt back into tattoos, and when she opens her eyes they are grey again.

"Go to your car. Look in the damn trunk and see what's there. Come back in when you're ready to figure out what happened." She stalks out of the room, and Dean hears the kitchen door swing open and shut.

He turns to Sam and watches his brother pull himself off the floor. "You scream like a girl." Sam favors him with a glare before leading the way to the car.

* * *

Inside the trunk they find a spare tire, a jack, a tire iron, two duffel bags, a laptop bag, and a small box wrapped in white paper. Dean takes the box as Sam studies the trunk. Underneath the paper and the heavy tape seal Dean finds a letter and a manila envelope. He's just about to hold them up and show Sam when his brother pushes the trunk's contents back and reaches along the inside seam. He lifts the bottom of the trunk to reveal a cache of weapons and rosaries. Dean chokes on his words as he and Sam stare at the contents of this little armory. Sam regains his composure first.

"Well, if she hadn't shown us her wings, I'd say we're just as crazy as she is."

Dean nods carefully and then turns his attention back to the box. By the light of the trunk he can read the ornate handwriting, and the message leaves him speechless. He hands the letter over to Sam, who reads it aloud carefully and slowly.

"Winchesters. Your test has begun. You have three days to stop the next murder from occurring and retrieve the dagger and chalice. Tell Sariel nothing."

Sam looks up and meets Dean's eyes. "Tell her nothing? Is she not trustworthy or are we doing something bad?"

Dean can't answer, but the creeping unease in his stomach makes his hands clench before he can release them and open the manila folder. Inside he finds a stack of pictures, and suddenly Dean is having problems breathing. Sam takes one look at the top picture and staggers away, his face pale and drawn. Dean can't stop himself from spreading the pictures out in the trunk so that he can see them more clearly. Each one is labeled with the name of the half-eaten child it contains. When he looks up Sam is staring at him in horror.

"Ok. Stopping this can't be bad, which just leaves Sariel being untrustworthy." Sam nods his head and Dean has to take a shaky breath before he can continue. "So we have to figure out where this is happening first right? Then we go there and find out who's doing it and stop them."

"Dean the letter says this is a test. What are we being tested on? Why would we have to lose our memories to be tested?"

Dean can't answer, so he sweeps the pictures back into the folder and shoves them into the laptop bag before handing it to Sam. "We'll go inside and play nice. Use her internet to find out where these kids are from. After she's asleep we'll slip out and head there."

When Dean steps back through the kitchen door he catches Sariel setting the table. He tries to wear his most natural grin, but since he has no idea if he's usually a smiling person he knows that the effect is somewhat ruined. She glances past him at Sam, and then her face is pale and drawn too. "What is it Sam? Are you experiencing something other than memory loss?" Dean's hands clench into fists when she puts her hand on Sam's forehead and gently tilts his face so that she can look into his eyes.

"He's fine. Let's have dinner." Dean can't decide what's wrong with him. The letter tells him she's not to be trusted, she's his brother's girl, she flirts with him, and she's not human. Still, when he sees her touching Sam it drives him crazy. The look she gives him is confused, but she brings out a roast and a pot of mashed potatoes before placing them down in front of the two Winchesters.

Sam hesitates briefly. "Uh, should we say…grace?" Sariel raises her scarred eyebrow, and then takes a bite of her mashed potatoes. Dean watches Sam accept this as a no, and then consider his own food. Their eyes meet over the table, and they silently argue before Sam puts up his fist and Dean follows suit. The motion feels old and familiar as Dean pumps his fist three times and then puts out scissors. He can remember this, but not his life? Sam throws rock, and Dean feels a stir of something like chagrin before he lifts his fork and bites into the mashed potatoes. They both wait expectantly, but when Dean doesn't fall over Sam digs into his own meal with a vengeance. He doesn't look up till he feels the weight of Sariel's gaze on him.

"You two left for a hunt a week ago, and you called yesterday to say you'd be back today. You made it back here, so either it was a slow-acting curse or you got attacked in the driveway. Since I didn't hear shooting I'm going to go with the first."

Dean is horrified to see Sam is considering this. When Sam speaks it's thoughtful and slow. "Do we usually research what we're hunting before we go after it?"

Sariel's shrug is an odd mix of careless and graceful. "Before and during has been my experience, but you've never taken me hunting." She grins slyly at Dean, and he finally can't take the pressure of knowing that he's been hitting on his brother's obviously disloyal girlfriend.

He focuses his heavy gaze on her face when he speaks. "Maybe we're afraid you'll stab one of us in the back."Dean watches the look of shock on her face bleed into one of anger.

"I know you're kind of fragile right now Dean, and that this whole thing is scary for you, but lashing out at me isn't going to get your memory back any faster." He watches her stand and put her dishes in the sink. She leans against the wall and crosses her arms to give Dean the full weight of her glare, and he hates that despite being so angry with her he still wants her. His brain has disengaged as he pushes back from the table and moves across the kitchen, slamming his hands onto the wall on either side of her head and leaning in close. He wants to kiss her and shout at her all at the same time. He settles for the second.

"You wanna stop shaking your ass at me with my brother only a few feet away?"

Her eyes go impossibly wide, and he watches her mouth gape with a sense of victory. From behind him Sam's voice is shocked. "What are you talking about Dean?"

"I'm talking about you Sam. I may not remember you, but I'm pretty sure I'm not the kind of son of a bitch who hits on his brother's girl."

Her mouth snaps shut, and Dean's certainty takes a hit when her eyes narrow and her lips purse. "Is that what you have planted up your ass Dean Winchester? The notion that I am cheating on your brother with you?"

Dean leans closer, and the heat coming off her body has him so hard that he can barely think of a response. He manages a grunt of affirmation, and then stumbles back when she pushes him. Sam is already on his feet, and just barely manages to catch Dean as he falls backwards. Dean's triumph is gone when he sees the hurt in her eyes.

"I'm not with Sam idiot I'm with you."

Dean is speechless. He looks to Sam, but Sam's face holds only confusion. "Why did you think she was with me?"

"She keeps touching you, and looking at you, and…yeah…" Dean can tell he's not going to win this fight. He's not even sure he wants to. When his eyes turn back to Sariel her face has become a blank mask.

"Sam your bedroom is downstairs. It's full of your books. Maybe you should check your browser history and see what you and Dean were looking for." Her head tilts slightly as she looks at Dean. "You can sleep on the damn couch."

Dean wants to apologize, but she's out of the kitchen too quickly for him to formulate a coherent sentence. When he turns to see Sam giving him a sympathetic look he can't help but put his hand up. "Don't say a word." This feels familiar too.

* * *

Dean hasn't been able to put his finger on the growing sense of unease he has as Sam looks for the dead children. If Dean's involved with Sariel then why wouldn't she be allowed to know about the test? Sam makes a small noise and turns the screen so Dean can see a newspaper article about murdered children. He's absurdly proud of Sam in that moment, and even more so when Sam figures out how to get from where they are to the small town that holds the answers to their problem. He studies his wristwatch for a moment before looking up to see Sam yawn.

"Maybe we should get a little sleep before we leave?" Sam gives him a strange look, and then his brother's eyes crinkle, and a dimple appears.

"You want to go talk to her before we leave and smooth things over. For when we have our memories again."

Dean can't make eye contact. He takes this as an important lesson that his brother is obviously adept at reading him. "Well it can't hurt."

He leaves Sam in the room alone and heads upstairs. He has to debate with himself whether he should open doors until he sees her or start knocking. While he's debating that he feels a finger tapping his shoulder. His body moves again, smooth and efficient without his mind engaging in the action. He's grabbed her wrist, spun with her, and pinned her against the wall before he registers that it's her. Her eyebrow is raised again, and she's tilted her head so that her scar is hidden in her hair. "Dean. What are you doing up here?"

He's hard, and it makes looking contrite more difficult than he'd like. She pushes him firmly away, and he can see the flush in her face and the way her breathing has accelerated. It's good to know he's not the only one feeling horny. "I came to apologize." His voice is low and husky, and he sees her shiver before she meets his eyes.

"You have to do that a lot." Her grin is lopsided, and he reaches out to push her hair away from her face and touch her scar. There is a stirring of memory here, but it slips away from him before he can grasp it. She steps away from his touch.

"I forgive you. Did you want to sleep up here?" Dean is tempted. Very tempted. But his little brother is downstairs, and he may not be able to remember him, but he knows that fixing himself and Sam has to take priority. If he goes with her he won't be sleeping anytime soon.

"Nah. That might be a bad idea right now. Let's find my memory first." He's not sure how his grin comes out, but she smiles back at it. He watches her walk away, and then descends the steps carefully. When he's in the bathroom, and the door is firmly shut, he masturbates furiously to the memory of her body pressed against him and the lingering smell of her.

* * *

The brothers leave four hours before dawn. Dean finds himself comforted by the feeling of the car purring under his hands. He can't help himself when he strokes the wheel gently. He may not remember her, but he knows he loves this car. Sam's sideways glance at him speaks volumes. It takes seven hours to reach the town Sam found on the internet, but when they get there Dean parks at a little motel and uses a wad of cash from his wallet to pay for a room with two twin beds. There's something familiar about the bad wallpaper and the tacky room divider, and he sees the same look on Sam's face.

"So how do we start this?"

Sam bites his lip and rubs the back of his neck. "Well we should probably talk to the kids' parents and maybe the cops. I have no idea how we're going to do that. Once we figure out what's doing this we need to find a way to kill it." Sam looks towards the duffel bags they've pulled out of the trunk, and Dean knows that he's thinking of their arsenal. "Maybe we should inventory what we have."

It takes two hours to identify every weapon in the trunk, and Dean is secretly delighted at the cigar box filled with fake identification. He picks up an FBI badge with his picture on it and strokes it admiringly. "I think we found our way to talk to the cops."

Sam glances at the badge before he takes in what it is. His eyes go wide and he meets Dean's look with uncertainty. "Can we pull off being federal agents?"

Dean doesn't know, so he decides to go with confidence so that Sam won't back out. He holds out a badge with Sam's face on it. "Apparently we do it all the time Agent Daltrey."

Sam looks over his badge, and then composes his expression into a serious frown. "Then let's go hunt some evil Agent Townshend."

They find suits in their duffel bags, and it takes no time at all to change and navigate their way to the sheriff's office. The local cops seem grateful for the help of two agents, and barely check their id at all. The details of the murders aren't very helpful though. All the children were taken during the night, and then dumped a few days later at the edge of the woods. The police have scoured every inch of forest, but the closest thing to a clue they've found was a long piece of silver. The Sheriff ended their talk by shaking his head and saying, "It's the damndest thing, like he swept behind himself after he left."

The parents are less help. Each one is more emotionally devastated than the last, and Dean finds that he is unable to help these conversations along. Sam's face is more trustworthy, and after the third parent Dean is worn out. He nods and listens carefully, but his eyes travel every surface of the house and he's fairly certain that he's picked up on a pattern no one has told them yet.

Sam collapses into the car after the last parent and looks over to Dean. "How do I do this all the time?"

Dean shrugs wearily. "I dunno. You're pretty good at it though."

Sam grins casually, and Dean is secretly pleased he's removed the clouds from Sam's face. It only works for a few moments, and Sam is turning back inwards as Dean starts the car so they can return to the motel. "We've got a problem here man. There're over fifty kids all in the same age bracket as the victims. There's no way we can keep an eye on all of them."

Dean's eyes are gritty, and he rubs them tiredly as he pulls his tie off. "Well Sariel said we research before and during a case. We're looking for something that's connected to silver, eats kids, and only chooses from the bad child portion of the menu."

Dean turns to see that Sam has raised his eyebrows. His voice is cautious as he slides off his own tie. "Why do you say that?"

They've reached the motel, and Dean considers the two beds before choosing the one closest to the door.

Dean makes an expansive hand gesture as he falls back onto the bed. "Well every house we visited had a distinct lack of trophies, an impressive collection of broken shit, and parents who looked grieved, but suddenly well rested. Plus I peeked into some of their bedrooms. That one kid had at least fifteen stolen street signs. Pretty impressive for a little guy."

Sam's face shows his admiration, and Dean is glad for it. After spending the day as Sam's wingman he needs to feel like he's been somewhat useful. "I'm gonna take a shower. Then we'll research."

Dean may not know much about himself, but the shower is very telling. He has a rather impressive collection of scars, and several bruises that have only just begun to fade. Hunting appears to be a hard life in more ways than one. When he rejoins Sam he learns that he is no good at research. His adrenaline had begun to pump, and he can't seem to sit still long enough to focus on the expansive texts Sam is searching. Sam on the other hand has no interest in the TV shows Dean flicks through, or any conversation his brother may try to start. Dean falls asleep watching an action movie, and is rudely awakened by Sam shaking him.

"Hey Dean. I think I found it!"

Dean squints through two gummy eyes as Sam scrolls over increasingly disturbing woodcuts and chatters on about an old Russian witch. After several minutes Dean holds up a hand. "Sam. Stop. Have you slept at all?"

Sam looks at him strangely, and Dean feels that sweeping sense of déjà vu again. "No Dean. I've been working."

Dean bites back annoyance. "Well get some damn sleep. We'll work on this in the morning." He's only slightly surprised when Sam listens to him.

* * *

Dean is awake before Sam, and he scouts around till he finds a diner that serves coffee. It isn't till he's standing in front of the woman that he realizes he doesn't know how he takes his coffee. He doesn't know how Sam likes it either. He orders them both black and then drives breakfast back to the motel. Sam is in the shower when he arrives, and he tries to read through the information Sam's acquired as he eats his breakfast and drinks the coffee. He's glad to find that he likes it black.

Sam seems happy to find food, and he bounces ideas off of Dean as he sips his coffee. It's only when Dean finds out that there's no weakness for the creature that he turns his eyes from the picture on the screen. "So how do we kill it if no one ever has before?"

Sam's frown tells Dean everything he needs to know. "I don't know Dean. In the stories people outwit her and then get prizes. There's one story where she dies, but I couldn't get the full thing. Something about animals and twisting her braid, and the waters of life and healing. We're supposed to be finding a cup and a dagger right?"

Dean rubs his eyebrow gently. "We're supposed to stop her from killing kids. I think that takes precedent over getting our memories back."

Sam's look of shame doesn't make Dean feel better. He leans in and claps his brother's shoulder. "We'll just take it one step at a time. Do you know how to find her?"

Sam looks to the screen and then nods cautiously.

They've reached the center of the woods, and Sam is frowning so seriously Dean is afraid his face will freeze that way. When Sam stops abruptly Dean crashes into him, and the two fight for their balance. "What the hell Sam!"

Sam puts a finger to his lips, and then looks forward into the small and empty clearing. "Turn your back to the forest, and your front to me."

Dean's about to mock his little brother, when an unearthly screeching fills the trees around them. Slowly a ragged hut rises from the earth on one bony chicken leg, and they're greeted by a smell of rotten flesh and death. Dean wonders slightly at how easily he can recognize it. He exchanges a glance with Sam, and then they head through the missing fence post.

"I'll go through the front Dean, you move around and enter through the back. If she has a kid they'll be stored back there."

Dean doesn't bother to hide his sarcasm. "Yeah. Let's split up. That sounds like a great idea."

Sam considers this for a moment, and then gives Dean a serious look. "Dean in all the stories the one who survives is polite to Baba Yaga. If one of us has to run into her who do you think will be better at diplomacy?"

Dean can't argue this point, and he knows the dumbfounded look on his face gives this away. He gives in and circles the house carefully. He's just entered the back when he hears sniffling. The rooms are full of dirt and old dried bloodstains. Dean maneuvers around clutter until he finds a small door set in the side wall. The kid inside is dirty and bruised, and so happy to see Dean she throws her arms around him and begins to sob into his shirt. He's stunned for a moment, and then he pats her back gently. She may be a brat, and if they've gotten the witch's M.O. right she's probably insufferable in normal circumstances, but Dean's enraged at the sight of her small and trembling form. He lets her hang on to him as he makes his way to the back door, and then stops suddenly when he hears a crash in the front.

He knows, without knowing how, that this is the sound of Sam in trouble. He puts the little girl down and points to the back door. "Run. Fast." She doesn't question his advice. Dean cocks the old Colt revolver in his hand and turns the corner to see the twisted old witch cackling over Sam. It takes Dean a second to recognize what has happened, and when he does his vision goes red.

His little brother is lying on the floor, frozen like a stone with his eyes wide in shock and his mouth agape. Dean lunges forward so quickly he can feel the muscle in his calf pull with the force, and his hand is wrapped around the witch's braid without him thinking about it. He remembers Sam's research, and with a trembling voice and a steady hand he punctuates his words by pushing the Colt in her face."Get the water that heals him or die bitch."

He's dimly surprised by how afraid she seems of the gun.

The water in question is a small well outside her home, and she scoops it up in a silver chalice before hobbling along under Dean's firm grip. When they get back inside she uses a sharp little dagger to prick her wrist and bleed three drops into the water. Dean takes the cup from her, and keeps the gun pointed at her while he tilts it into his brother's open mouth. His fury doesn't diminish when Sam's eyes flutter and his brother groans and begins to move, but his heart unclenches a bit. He may not remember Sam, but he knows with certainty that he loves his brother more than life. He waits till Sam has sat up before he shoots the witch, and he's to relieved that Sam is alright to be surprised when she dies easily. He helps Sam out of the shack as it begins to groan and shake, and by the time they join the little girl outside it is already crumbling in on itself.

They drive the girl home, and leave her at her door before going back to the motel. After two showers, a pizza delivery, and a beer run Dean sits back in the bed and looks over at Sam across from him. His brother looks energized, and Dean can feel it to.

"I think I can see why we enjoy doing this. Did you see that little girl's face?"

Dean can't help the chuckle. "We're heroes Sammy." He looks down at the chalice and knife. "Now we just gotta remember the rest of it, and who we're supposed to give this to."

* * *

That night Dean dreams. He is standing beside Sam in what he has come to consider home, and Sariel is standing in front of him facing a tall blonde man Dean recognizes. The archangel Michael. In a flood Dean remembers everything, and he's both amused and horrified with his own behavior. Sariel and Michael both glance at him and Dean sees that her face is tear-streaked and her hands are clenched. He wants to touch her, but he can't make himself walk forward.

She closes the distance between them herself and holds his gaze. "You did this? You made a deal with him?" Her finger points backwards at Michael, and the male archangel simply watches her.

This wasn't the response he was expecting. Dean's not sure if he should be defensive or apologetic, and he settles for a neutral middle ground. "Yeah. He said it would save Sammy." He doesn't mention that Michael promised that he and Sam could work for her. It's the best of both worlds. Sam will be free from his fate with Lucifer, and they will stay with Sariel. She's shaking her head.

"You don't understand Dean. This can't be undone. There will be no magic cure this time. No secret weapon against your own choices. You and Sam will be changed and you'll never be able to go back. And the price Dean. _Did he tell you the damn price before you agreed to it_?"

Dean feels his own hesitation, and then lets anger push him beyond it. "I don't need to know the price. Sam will be safe. That's what matters. I told you before sweetheart, Sammy comes first."

Her face cramps with pity and grief, and for a moment Dean is almost frightened. She takes several steps back from him. "Remember that this was your choice."

Michael steps forward so that he is beside Sariel, and she turns her back to Dean to stare out the side window. When Michael speaks Dean can feel its resonance in his bones. "You've passed the test warriors. I've removed your handicap. Come back."

When Dean wakes he sees that Sam has just jerked awake with him. Their eyes meet, and Dean grins casually. "We won the prize Sammy."

Sam's return grin is hesitant. "Dean , Sariel seemed really angry. What is the price?"

Dean wants to be concerned, but he knows that Sam's very soul was at stake, and this was their chance to solve the problem once and for all. He wants Sam to feel triumphant, and he knows that Sariel will forgive them. At least he hopes she will. "She'll be fine. Let's get on the road."

Dean questions his assured position when they reach the house. He realizes in the silence that greets them that he has never come here without hearing music playing over the speakers. Sam is holding the chalice, and Dean grips the hilt of the dagger as he turns his key in the lock and enters the quiet house. Sariel and Michael are standing in the living room just as they were in the dream, and Dean sees that her wings are out and her eyes are that cold shade of silver. She doesn't meet his gaze when he enters, but Michael's face is smiling and joyful.

"Step forward warriors."

Sariel's eyes remain on the floor when she speaks. "I had thought you would have learned your lesson about making deals Dean."

Dean hesitates at this, and then they enter the living room proper, and Michael puts a heavy hand on Sariel's shoulder. His voice is demanding. "Begin the initiation archangel."

When she meets his eyes Dean wants to apologize. Her face is blank and closed off, but Dean can see that her hands tremble slightly as she tries to keep her composure. Beside him Sam sucks in a breath and before the younger Winchester can start to explain or apologize Sariel holds out one unsteady hand. Beside her Michael does the same, palm out and upwards.

"Dean Winchester. Samuel Winchester. You have volunteered of your own free will to join the cause of Heaven. Now that you have passed your test do you still wish to be Soldiers of the Word?" Her voice is different, and Dean can't identify the tone of it. It makes him ache to hear it, and he doesn't want her to keep using it, but he knows better from the look on her face than to try being flippant or comforting. Even Dean Winchester knows sometimes seriousness is required.

He glances to Sam, and then nods his head firmly. "I do." Sam agrees directly afterwards. Sariel's eyes shift ever so slightly towards Sam for a moment, and then return to Dean.

"Hand me the dagger Dean."

Michael steps forward slightly. "Hand me the chalice Samuel."

Dean sees Sam hesitate as he passes over the ornate cup, and he tries to look more solid when he flips the sharp knife around in his hand and presents the hilt to Sariel. Her eyes study it, and then she looks up. Something dark in her silver gaze makes Dean take a step backwards, and he hears Sam's harsh inhale behind him.

"You have passed the test and proven your worth. You have stated your intentions with truth and determination. You have agreed to the price." Dean watches as she skillfully turns the sharp dagger around in her hand so that the blade is pointed towards herself. He sees Michael step towards her, and the chalice is held out. Her hand is suddenly steady, and she catches Dean's eye again before she speaks. "This is my gift and your price." Before Dean can move, before he can speak, or even fully comprehend her words she pushes the dagger's point up through her ribs and into her heart.


	7. Love Under Fire

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Seven: Love Under Fire

"No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue/ I could not foresee this thing happening to you/ If I look hard enough into the settin' sun/ My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes"- The Rolling Stone "Paint it Black"

Dean watches in frozen horror as Michael catches her around the waist and slips the cup under her breast to catch the blood. Her hand releases the dagger, and he can hear the echo of its impact with the wooden floor as behind him Sam is shouting something he can't understand. Dean's paralysis breaks when Michael releases her and she falls. He makes it to her in time to catch her body, and his fingers slip through the blood coating her front till they find the puncture and press with as much force as he can spare. He knows it's too much pressure when he hears ribs crack, but he's afraid if he lessens it she will die. Above him Michael is looking on with equal measures of sympathy and affection. He holds the cup out to Sam first.

"You must drink the heart's blood of an angel to cleanse yourself of Azazel's blood, and become soldiers."

Sam is shaking his head, and Dean sees how pale his brother has become. He looks down to see Sariel's hands are pulling at his, and he holds the steady pressure over her wound even as he allows her to lift his other hand. Her voice is a strained whisper when it reaches him. "You have to drink."

When Dean looks up again Sam is taking the chalice. Their gazes meet, and Sam puts the cup to his lips before taking a deep pull. The look on his face as the liquid pours into his mouth disgusts Dean. There is ecstasy there, and Dean wants to scream at his brother as Sariel bleeds out in his arms. When the cup is passed back to Michael Dean takes it from him without a word. He doesn't want it, almost refuses it, but she squeezes his wrist gently. "Please Dean." He holds her gaze steadily as he tilts the chalice to his lips. He may have been disgusted when he saw it, but he realizes quickly what Sam was reacting to. The taste of her blood is every fervent desire he's ever felt, the adrenaline of a good hunt, the feel of her gripping his cock and riding him while she pants his name, the wind in his hair as he rides beside Sam in the Impala, his father's approval, and the gentle touch of his mother's hand when she still lived and loved. He closes his eyes, and when the cup is empty he feels Michael remove it from his boneless fingers. Beneath him the blood has stopped pumping from Sariel's chest, and she is pushing herself up weakly.

He tries to help her, and she shoves his hands away with a force he didn't think she'd be capable of. She finally gets herself up, and is leaning on the couch when Michael pulls the blades out of the box. He looks at her gravely. "Do you Sariel, God's Commandment, accept these two Soldiers into your charge?"

She doesn't look at Sam or Dean, and he wishes that she'd glance at him, even if that look was full of anger. He remembers vaguely all the reasons he agreed to do this. Michael promised him that Sam would no longer have demon's blood in him, Sam would no longer be a vessel for Lucifer, that they would be better equipped to fight the hordes of Hell, and that as Sariel's Soldiers she wouldn't have to leave them. This was supposed to preserve the shaky little paradise he and Sam had found. Now he was sure that he had single-handedly destroyed it. Dean was pretty talented at spectacularly fucking up a good thing.

Sariel nods, and then presents her forearms to Michael with a look of grim determination. Dean knows what those blades have done to her before, and he wants to cry out, but stopping the ritual at this point will make the whole thing a waste. He clenches his fists and grits his teeth so hard he's afraid he'll break them as Michael slides the blades into her forearms. They remain there for several moments, and then melt into her skin like her wings, leaving behind only long tattoos of the graceful lettering that once decorated the metal. Michael leans in, whispers in her ear, and then nods to Sam and Dean. He leaves the three of them alone in the living room.

The silence is deafening, and Dean wants to break it, but there are no words to describe how terribly fucking sorry he is. Sam catches her when she falls this time, and she lets him carry her over to the couch. Dean follows them, and when his brother sits on the floor in front of her Dean sits beside him. They watch her as she sleeps, and at some point Sam touches Dean's shoulder and apologizes, but Dean is too burned out emotionally to really acknowledge it.

* * *

Dean realizes he's been sleeping when he wakes to fingers moving through his short hair. He looks up to see Sariel's grey eyes on him, and he realizes the night before wasn't a nightmare when his eyes catch sight of the dried blood covering her front. She points weakly to Sam, who is still sleeping, and then gestures towards his bedroom. Dean has experience moving Sam without fully waking him, and he gently lifts his brother and guides him to bed. When he returns he finds her struggling to stand. She lets him carry her upstairs and into the bathroom. There are words for his guilt, but Dean can't fathom where he'd start or how he'd get enough of them. He busies himself washing the blood from her, and then revisiting his grief when she uses the washcloth to wipe her own blood from his chin. His hands shake as he dries her and then he carries her to bed. She's barely able to hold herself up when he tries to dress her. When he lays her down she holds onto his hand with a grip that surprises him again. "Don't leave." Her voice is thick and full of unshed tears. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches her cautiously.

"I-" She shakes her head and Dean swallows the words.

"You did this for Sam right?" Her eyes are dark and he nods without any force.

"And for us. He said we could stay together if we were your soldiers." He sounds about twelve years old, and he'd be embarrassed but he can't make himself feel anything other than guilt.

She considers this for a moment and then tugs lightly on Dean's hand. He doesn't understand what she wants at first, and then he follows her pull and lies beside her. It is difficult to breathe, and he lets her tug him till his head rests over the place where she pricked her own heart. He listens to the beat of it, and is frightened by how weak it sounds and the way it occasionally stutters. When she speaks the sound rumbles through her chest.

"I tried to protect you two from this. To preserve your humanity. I didn't want this for you."

Dean takes a deep breath as her fingers continue to weakly stroke his hair. "I'm sorry."

Her hand stutters in its movement and then rests on his shoulder. He listens to the unsteady beat of her heart, and it occurs to him that what he's hearing pump through that organ is now pushing through his own veins as well. Humanity may be out of Dean's reach now, and that scares him a bit, but it's worth it. God it's worth it if he can just hold on to the things he loves.

"You'll beat yourself up about this more than I ever could, so don't expect me to shout at you."

Dean closes his eyes and tries to control what's happening inside of him. He feels her shaky hand stroke his hair again, and she speaks one more time before she falls back into sleep. It's a whisper, but he hears her. "You're making breakfast."

He wants to laugh and cry, and settles for doing neither. He simply listens to her heart continue to beat.

* * *

Dean wakes suddenly, and realizes it's because he can no longer hear her heartbeat. He looks down desperately and finds that they have shifted positions, and now he is on his back with her wrapped around him. He touches her throat gently and finds her pulse, still weak but no longer stuttering. His relief is instantaneous. He works to carefully pull himself away from her so that he can take care of his body's needs. When he steps out of the bedroom he finds Sam wrapped in a blanket and sitting by the door with the Colt on his lap. He considers the weapon, and his brother, before heading into the bathroom. When he comes back out the first aid kit is in his hands, and he sits wearily beside Sammy and rubs his eyes.

Sam's voice when he speaks is deep and gravelly. "Is she ok?"

"Pulse is weak but not thready anymore. I broke at least two of her ribs. She wants me to make breakfast."

Sam winces. "That's only punishing herself."

Dean punches Sam once, lightly, on the shoulder and is gratified to find his brother is smiling. "I'm gonna wrap her ribs and check her chest wound. Shoulda done it last night. Then I'll go get started on the food."

He squeezes Sam's shoulder as he stands, and it goes unspoken between them that Sam should stay here at the doorway. What he will shoot, what could possibly come at them next, Dean doesn't know. Still, it's better to be safe than sorry, and at this point they need to use as much caution as they can.

Dean closes the door behind him softly, and steps further into the bedroom to find her awake and watching him. She sees the first aid kit, and tries to sit up and pull off her own shirt. Dean crosses the room before she can get fully up, and he's helping her lean against the headboard and remove the baggy shirt he put her in the night before. Dean's almost ashamed that her breasts distract him for a moment, before he sees the small pull of a smile on her lips. He's all business though when he leans in to look underneath her left breast, and what he sees there makes him tighten his hold on the gauze and give an appreciative grunt. The wound is closed, but barely, and it will be a thick scar. He wraps her ribs as gently as he can, but he knows from experience if the wrapping isn't tight it won't help her at all.

"What would have happened if we didn't drink?" He can't make eye contact when he asks. He keeps his hands busy and steady, and watches his work.

"I would have bled to death. Drinking sealed the contract and the wound." He can see in his mind's eye the moment when Michael held the chalice out to him, and it's not hard to imagine himself refusing the cup and simply holding her till she is still and gone. It's her touch that drags him out of the image.

"Dean. Dean stop. I have to tell you something."

He looks up from what he's doing, and sees that her eyes have a strange shine to them. "Yeah?"

"Michael happened to mention that Soldiers, technically, aren't humans."

Dean's head spins, and he cuts off the gauze and pins it carefully with hands that are no longer steady. He reaches out and takes her chin into his hands, rubbing the smooth skin with his rough fingers, before leaning in to take her mouth with his. The kiss starts sweet and gentle, but he can feel the slow pulse in her throat and he finds that desperation creeps in. She lets him lick her lower lip, and then gives access into her mouth. He doesn't release her until they're both panting and in need of air. Until her pulse against his fingertips is beating hard and fast.

"I almost got you killed." His voice is husky as he looks at her lips.

"Before this is over I'll probably return the favor. I'm hungry."

His laughter overtakes him, and he recognizes the edge of hysteria. She is alive, he is alive, Sam is alive. They are all together, and they're safe for now. That's enough.

* * *

Dean curses as his fifth waffle comes out of the waffle iron burnt beyond repair. Sariel is seated across from him in a chair, wrapped in a comforter Sam has put around her, and Dean can see that she's laughing silently as she watches him struggle. Sam has taken over the sausage and the eggs, but after this latest failure Dean makes Sam switch places with him so that he can be the one simply flipping and stirring. It's not very gratifying because Sam handles the waffle maker with ease.

Halfway through the debacle Sariel breaks the easy silence. "Hey Sam, could you go into the living room, and put on Boston's self-titled. I'm dying for some music here."

If Dean notices the way Sam falters when she says dying he doesn't comment. He feels his own heart skip a beat at the word. Sam leaves quickly, and when "More Than a Feeling" starts up there's a release of some pressure in Dean's chest that he can't name. He plates scrambled eggs and sausage, and then puts them down beside the waffles on the bar. Sam rejoins them, and Dean makes sure Sariel's plate is full before fixing his own.

"Guys, I hate to do it because I know it's kind of raw, but we have to discuss what this means."

Dean doesn't want to talk about this right now. He wants the illusion that they are normal, but the effort of lifting her fork up and down is obviously exhausting her, and Sam's face is so pale and drawn with guilt that Dean knows he can't argue with her right now. He makes himself be the first to speak. "What changes?"

Sariel put her fork down carefully and considered her half-eaten waffle. "Soldiers are fairly rare. It's a difficult process for them and for the angel that takes them in. The two of you can expect some changes, but they'll be pretty minimal for the most part. You'll be harder to kill, and just that little bit stronger and faster." She forked a piece of egg slowly into her mouth before she continued, and Dean could tell she was trying to avoid the next part. "If you aren't brutally killed while on a mission you'll age more slowly, and live a very long time. Few Soldiers experience that. You'll report to me, and I will report to the Word's messenger. If I give you a command you have to follow it, and we can't argue about it. If you get into serious trouble I'll know, and I'll be there to back you up."

Sam's eyes are intense as he leans towards her. "How long will it take you to recover?"

She blinks once, as if this isn't the question she expected, and then swallows and glances at her plate. "You two will start feeling the effects of my blood in the next month or so. I'll be back to full speed in about that amount of time. Until then what powers I have will be unreliable, and I'll be weak as a newborn kitten."

Dean wanted to stop himself, and he tried, but after a moment's hesitation it came out. "Do I get extra perks for sleeping with the boss?"

The look she gives him breaks the tension in the kitchen, and Sam's laughter is a balm to Dean's soul.

* * *

Her recovery is slow, and Dean tries his hardest to be good throughout all of it. She teaches the two of them basic cooking, and when Dean complains good-naturedly she responds that it's amazing the Winchesters aren't dead considering their usual fare. He gives Sam a dark look when his brother nods in agreement. By the third day she can take several shaky steps unaided, but Dean and Sam are hesitant to let her push herself beyond that. She tires easily, and Dean can't help but notice that she often rubs gently at her chest when she thinks they aren't looking. On the fourth day she is sitting on the couch with a book in her hands when Dean sticks his head in to ask how she's feeling. Her response is to throw her book at him. He ducks it easily and raises a sardonic eyebrow. Sam has arrived silently behind him at the sound of the text crashing against the wall.

"Both of you need to take a day off. Go to the movies. Get some Porterhouse steaks from the butcher." She waves a hand wearily in the direction of the door. "My treat."

Dean doesn't know if he should be amused or offended, but he understands intuitively what is bothering her. Sam on the other hand moves into the room and kneels down so he can look her in the eye. "Sariel? What's wrong?"

She makes a noise of exasperation and cuts her eyes to Dean, but he is grinning broadly at someone else being the target of Sam's overactive sympathy drive. "Nothing is wrong Sam. Nothing. Except that I am perfectly capable of going fifteen minutes without one of you checking on me. I need a break from the constant mothering."

Dean cocks his eyebrow, but she's looking at Sam now, and he knows that she feels a bit guilty. He can imagine what Sam's expression is like. "I'm sorry Sam. It's just…frustrating to be unable to take care of myself after all this time. Please. Go out with Dean today and have a nice day. Bond a bit. I'll be fine alone." The look of pleading she sends Dean has him moving forward instantly. He touches Sam's shoulder lightly, and Sam stands. They go to the kitchen together, and Sam lowers his face to the floor.

When Sam finally looks up Dean is surprised to see a wide grin there. "Hey Dean, your lady basically just called you a girl." Dean stares in shock at Sam, who is already turning around and leaving the kitchen.

"She called you a girl too." His mutter is ignored as the door swings closed.

They spend a good portion of the day in the movie theater, and Dean realizes it's been more years than he can consider since the last time he sat in a movie theater without wondering where the ghost is or when he's going to be attacked. His cinematic consumption is entirely filled by late-night movies in hotel rooms and the occasional pay-per-view film. He and Sam watch an action movie first, and then are ejected from the theater when they laugh their way through a horror film.

The butcher at the grocery store recognizes the request immediately and there's a glint in his eye when he looks up from the meat he's cutting and wipes his hands on his apron. "Only one lady around here asks for Porterhouses. You the boys that are staying up at Sariel's place?"

Sam nods respectfully while Dean stares at the butcher's hands. They're almost as big as Sam's, and he's so amused by this he comes close to missing what the man says next. "-a nice girl, but if she wants someone to make her a wife she'll need to start covering that ugly half of her face."

Dean feels Sam's hand on his arm before he even begins to raise it, and Sam forcefully removes Dean from the store before violence breaks out. Once they're back in the car Sam rubs the back of his neck and watches Dean warily. Dean can't blame him. "Now what are we doing for dinner?"

They pick up pizza, and Dean's blood is still high when they pull into the driveway. She glances once at the boxes they're carrying in and then raises an eyebrow carefully. She's still on the couch, but Dean can tell from her flush that she's recently tried moving. "Where are the steaks?"

Instead of answering her Dean leans in and gives her a kiss, his lips trying to stop her from seeing too deeply into him, from glimpsing how raw and angry he is. It's a feeling he's had before when people pick on Sam, the need to rush out and destroy anything that glances even slightly askew at what he loves. Sam has left for the kitchen, and when Dean pulls back Sariel's eyes are confused. "What was that for?"

"I think you're beautiful. I love your scar. It's everything that's good about you."

She looks away from him, and her voice is husky when she responds. "If you wanted pizza all you had to do was say so." He hears the thank you.

* * *

By the third week she is able to travel up and down the stairs without assistance, but she's still recovering and Dean is hesitant to leave her alone. Bobby has a job that he says he needs them for, and she insists they should go. Sam ends up being the one who talks him into leaving, and the irony isn't lost on Dean. They're gone for four days, and when they return Dean is buzzing with the need to tell her about how the dead chick apparently wanted Sam. The twist that makes their hunt a comedy is that the ghost was a woman in her late seventies. Sam is still not amused.

"She touched me Dean. Violated me." Sam's voice is classic whiny, and just a little over the girl line as he pulls out his bitchface.

"Aw, come on now. It was just a little friendly pat. No harm done Sammy." Dean takes a breath and then shoots a glance at his brother, shit-eating grin spreading like wildfire over his face. "Not like you're getting any other offers recently."

They pull up behind a strange rental car in the driveway, and the humorous banter dies instantly. Dean doesn't ask Sam the obvious, and Sam is moving in sync with him as they exit the car and pull their weapons. They circle to the back and enter through the kitchen door without a sound, and Dean shoots Sam a significant look before he exits the kitchen and starts his sweep. Sam is behind him the whole way as he peers through doors, and when he finds her in the living room with her hands bound behind her, gagged, and kneeling on the rug, with Agent Henricksen standing at her back Dean feels the briefest moment of relief before he sees that Henricksen has the Colt he left her, and it is pointed directly at the back of her head.

Years of training have him slowly lowering his gun, Sam moving beside him in the same gesture. He rises and puts his hands up, but his eyes are avoiding her so he can take in the rest of the picture first. Before emotion becomes an issue. Henricksen is alone and the car outside didn't have government plates. He's moved the furniture, and she's isolated in the center of the room with him. He hasn't handcuffed her, but tied her. He can see that her badly split lip is being aggravated by the rag shoved in her mouth, and there is a suspicious swelling at the corner of her right eye. Her muscles tremble from holding herself up, and she sends Dean an urgent look before Henricksen starts speaking.

"Sam and Dean Winchester. So good of you to join us. Your attorney and I were just taking a break from a wonderful discussion about where you were. I was trying to explain to her that 'go fuck yourself' wasn't a valid answer."

Dean shakes his head and his tone comes out almost normal. "Well what can I say Agent? The things they teach in law schools. It's deplorable. Why don't you put that gun down and we can talk about this."

Henricksen shakes his head sadly. "I'm afraid I can't do that. You see boys, it turns out a fifteen year career is only as strong as letting two yahoos walk out of a police station. I don't know what your girl-" here he nudges her in the back with his knee, and Dean twitches but holds himself still "-dosed me with, but it didn't show up on a tox screen. So now I'm on 'administrative leave' and you boys are someone else's problem. But you know, damndest thing, I just couldn't let it go."

Sam speaks soothingly. "We're sorry about that. We made her do it Agent. She's innocent in this. Dean and I will turn ourselves in, but you have to let her go now." Dean tastes blood as he bites into his cheek to control his mouth.

Henricksen considers this, and then crouches down to pull a coil of rope from the floor. He tosses it to Sam, and Sam's reflexes have him catching it without blinking. "Tie up your brother."

Dean's internal alarms start to go off. It's one thing if Henricksen is going rogue, another entirely if Henricksen has gone mad, and that's what it seems like right now. Sariel begins to make muffled noises through the gag, and her eyes when they meet Dean's are desperate. Sam speaks calmly despite the ratcheting tension levels. "I don't think I can do that. It won't help you. This has gotten out of hand Agent Henricksen, and if it goes further your superiors aren't going to give you your job back. Let's just talk about this."

Henricksen hits Sariel in the back of the skull, and she goes down hard, her face connecting with the rug. Dean's vision blurs, and then Sam is holding him back as he's screaming threats at Henricksen. It takes Sam a long time to get him quiet, and when Sariel turns herself over, so that Henricksen is above her and her head is tilted back to look at Sam and Dean it's now Sam's eyes she catches. They share a look, and Dean can't figure out what it means, but Sam's posture changes immediately. He shoots a glance to Dean and then turns back to Henricksen.

"Hey, ok, I'm going to tie Dean up now. It's ok. Just calm down." Dean shoots Sam a look of surprise, but he kneels and let's Sam put his arms behind his back. Sam's lips are centimeters from his ear when he breathes out, "He's possessed." Dean feels the world shift under him, and the threat becomes something else entirely. If they tip their hand then this will be a bloodbath. Sam has already figured out that their only chance is to let the demon think they believe he is human. Sam's getting better at survival and Dean's glad for it.

He meets Sariel's eyes, and her look is strangely apologetic. He can see blood on the light blue rug from her head wound, and he bites his cheek again and looks up at the demon riding the Agent. He tenses his arms like he's been taught, and holds his hands slightly apart while Sam ties the rope. They've practiced this since they were children, and Dean knows that getting out of it is going to take time and going to hurt but he's more than ready for that.

When Sam finishes the figure eight of rope he pats Dean's hand softly, and then steps back. Henricksen's head is tilted thoughtfully. "Ok, Dean join your bitch on the rug. Your brother and I are going to have a little discussion. "This time Henricksen throws Sam a pair of cuffs, and Dean is horrified when Sam catches them and puts them on without hesitation. He catches Sam's eye as Henricksen is pulling him along the floor and dropping him beside Sariel.

"Sam. Don't do this Sam." Sam is smiling at him, and he sees that look in his little brother's eye, the one that says he can do anything if Dean needs it. He starts to struggle against the rope, because this needs to look as convincing as it can. It doesn't hurt that Dean is both terrified at Sam leaving alone with a demon, and furious that his brother is putting himself in danger. It's one thing if Sam stays where Dean can keep an eye on him, another entirely if Sam is bound and out of sight. "Don't you hurt my brother Henricksen. I'll kill you."

Henricksen's smile at him is the final proof Dean needs that he's possessed. They walk out of the living room, and Dean begins the process of slipping one wrist out of the looser coil. His muscles have been tensed this whole time, and he's relieved to let them loosen before he starts to wiggle. Beside him Sariel is struggling, and he can see what it's costing her. "It's ok sweetheart. I got this. You lie still, and Sam and I will have us out of this in just a few. Then we'll talk about salt lines, and how to keep demons out."

She ignores his sarcasm as she rolls back over, and now she's pressed firmly against his side as he continues to pull at his ropes. He can see the glistening blood in her hair, and then a flash of silver lower down catches his eyes. She's twisted her hands at a brutal angle, and he sees her fingers reaching through the flesh of opposite wrists on both arms, and slowly tilting back both of the blades embedded in her forearms. The transformation from tattoo to wings has always looked natural, but this is a painful looking parting of flesh. Dean is glad to see it is bloodless. The ropes are easily sliced, and she rolls back over before trying to focus enough to cut Dean free. He's got no smartass comments, his surprise coupled with his concern for Sam, and now for her as he sees how pale and out of focus she is robs him of his usual sarcasm. She cuts him loose carefully and then holds her weapons out to him.

Dean hesitates but in the end he takes them. He remembers what Ruby's knife was capable of, and maybe Sariel's blades have the same power. His feet take him swiftly through the house, and he hears a grunt of pain and a thud from the back porch, before he lets training take him over completely. Dean is good at what he does and there's a reason. When it comes time for action he can shut down, and all that is left is the Hunter. His mind is running scenarios and assessing his surroundings, his blood is up, and his body moves gracefully.

He makes it out of the back door, and as Henricksen turns the Colt on him he goes down and turns, one blade extended, before sinking it in to Henricksen's side. The effect is instantaneous, and leaves both Winchesters gaping. They see the flash of the demon's death, and then Dean removes the blade from Henricksen's side and there is no wound. Henricksen is staring at the two of them in shock. "What the hell just happened?"

* * *

Dean was surprised to find her in the same spot on the floor when he came back in, and when he tried to lift her out of it he slammed into an invisible wall when he stepped forward. Ruefully she tells him to lift the carpet, and he finds where the demon that had Henricksen has carved a modified version of the Devil's Trap into the floor. He files it away for later. Angel traps could be just as useful. He cuts the outside line, and then takes her to sit beside Sam who is rubbing his bruised wrists thoughtfully. Sam's face has taken a rather brutal beating and Dean suppresses his grimace of sympathy. His heart to heart with Henricksen lasts longer than Dean would like, but he's gratified to learn that the former Agent is the kind of man who can see the importance of their work once someone beats through his thick skull that it's real. They share a handshake, and a meaningful guy glance, before Henricksen rides off into the distance. With no other distractions Dean knows he has to go back into the living room and lecture both Sam and Sariel on their separate acts of recklessness. The prospect does not excite him.

His brother has a bag of frozen peas pressed against the bruised and bloody side of his face and beside him Sariel is holding her own frozen vegetables against the back of her head. They both look at him like children caught breaking the rules, and Dean takes a position in the armchair so he can look them both in the eye.

"What did we learn today?"

The look Sam shoots him is the same narrow-eyed stare that entered Sam's repertoire in adolescence, and eventually drove him to leave for Stanford. Dean is glad to see it. "I had to get him away from the two of you Dean."

"You don't put yourself in that kind of danger for me Sammy. I'm the big brother, and I'll handle the life-threatening heroics around here. You ever walk off with a demon willingly again and I'll kick your ass myself."

He lets his eyes wander to Sariel and he sees that she is grinning at the two of them. "What's so funny sweetheart? Your lecture is next."

She doesn't even try to compose her face in a look of shame. Dean watches in fascination as her head tilts back and she begins to laugh. The look Sam gives her is one of concern, and Dean fights with his very active annoyance and the arousal her laughter always causes in him. When she could look him in the eye again her voice was rich and low. "The way you both want to throw yourselves into danger for one another, that kind of love and loyalty, you can't imagine how good it is to see it after all these years."

Dean glanced to Sam and saw that his brother's eyes were wide and shocked, and when he looked back her gaze had softened. He swallowed and rubbed his eyebrow. "Don't think you can sweet talk your way out of this one missy. You should have known better." But his heart wasn't in it anymore.


	8. Born to Raise Hell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Eight: Born to Raise Hell

"It's the same old story all over again/ You turn a lover into just another friend/ I want to love you, I want to make you mine/ Won't you lay it on the line?"- Triumph "Lay it on the Line"

When he wakes the next morning it's to the feel of something hot and wet on his chest, and reflexes have him throwing out an arm before he can consider what it could be. His wrist is caught in an iron grip, and he opens his eyes to see Sariel's grey staring back at him. She is holding his hand easily, and her mouth is traveling along the heated flesh of his chest. He looks at her grip, and raises his eyebrow, but she's already looking back at the muscle her mouth is on. When her lips travel that centimeter to the right and engulf a nipple he lets out a gasp and his arm goes weak. He's wanted this for so long he's not sure if he's really awake or not.

Her mouth moves from one nipple to the other, and she tongues her way down to his navel, moaning with him as she traces the well-defined lines he's gained through years of training. She spends extra time focusing on the ridges of his hipbones, and when she scrapes her teeth along the jut of his left one he bucks, and thinks that all the blood in his body has entered his cock. He can feel the laugh rolling from her lips as she finally releases his wrist and lets her fingers travel along behind her mouth. She pays attention to patches of skin at a time, and he watches her dark hair travel the length of him, until he's sure he's going to go crazy. When her tongue finally makes its way back to his groin he can't help but grab her hair, and his brain kicks in a second later to remind him she has a head wound. Except he can't feel it. His fingers gently massage the back of her skull as her tongue works against his member, and all he can find is unbroken skin. She looks up at him again, and he sees that there is only the ghost of a split in her lips as she wraps them around him and sucks him in.

Dean has extensive experience with blowjobs, but when she moans in the back of her throat and her fingers massage a point below the base of his cock that is apparently made of nerves he can't help but fear that he will have the same quick and shameful experience he did the first time. So he tugs gently on her hair, and she releases him before slithering her way up his body. She leans down to kiss him, and the taste of himself on her lips makes him crazy. She controls the kiss for several moments, and then pulls back to catch his eyes and grin.

"I'm recovered. Almost back to my old self entirely."

He lets his gaze travel down to her flushed chest, along her curved hips, and over her lean legs to her darkly painted toenails. "I can see that."

"Dean," her breathy moan makes him twitch, and he brings his eyes back to hers, "that means you and Sam are going to be feeling it too."

"Sam had better not be feeling this." He goes to take her hips, but she grabs his hands faster than he can follow and pins them above his head.

"We'll begin training now." She nips the corner of his lip and he can't help the growl that escapes him. He can feel the heat of her above his cock and he arches but she moves away skillfully. "Try to take control Dean."

She's got that grip on his wrists, and she keeps her body just over his as she kisses him. He needs the friction, needs it or he's sure he'll die, and he thrusts upwards but she always thwarts him. Finally the frustration is too much, and he pushes up in desperation and breaks her grip. He has her hips in an instant, and he flips her over so that he's on top. Her legs wrap around his waist and he enters her in one hard push.

When he's fully seated he lets his forehead drop against hers and tries to control his breathing. He can feel her heartbeat in her wrists, and he lets his tongue taste her pulse point. Her moan almost breaks his control.

"I missed this." Her hips shift to emphasize her point as her heels dig into his ass, and Dean groans thickly before catching her chin.

"Yeah. Me too." He lets his fingers travel down to where they're joined, and he strokes her gently and watches her buck and moan. There's not much in the way of conversation after that.

* * *

He's fascinated with her stomach, and his fingers drag over it again and again until she finally opens one sleepy grey eye and glares at him. "I think that tickles."

He lets his tongue rasp over the expanse he's been touching and hears her moan. "One, tickling causes laughter before glaring." He licks the spot again just to hear her voice, and then touches the blank space in the center of her stomach. "Two, where the hell is your belly button?"

Her laugh is husky. "I was never a baby Dean. Never had an umbilical cord so no belly button. Does that disturb you?"

He presses his nose against her and inhales the perfume of her skin, the mixture of both of their scents, the remnants of sweat and sex and something uniquely her. "Not even a little. Never was a belly button man myself." He let what she'd said sink in for a moment before he looked back up. Her eyes were closed again, but at the feel of his gaze she raises her scarred eyebrow and waits expectantly. "You don't know what tickling feels like?"

She shakes her head seriously. He lets himself slide down the bed and takes her foot in his hand. "Well then let me teach ya."

Her laughter is everything.

* * *

When they come downstairs Sam is making eggs and he looks up from the stove to see the two of them come through the door. His glance is amused and slightly embarrassed. "You sound like you're feeling better."

It's the sight of Sam that makes what she said earlier click in Dean's mind. There is barely a trace of the beating Sam received the day before, and Dean's so shocked he has to move forward and turn Sam's face back and forth in the sunlight to better study the healed cuts and faded bruises. Sam allows him this inspection for several seconds before he pushes him away. "Dean you're making me a little uncomfortable man."

Dean turns to see that Sariel's grin is overtaking her face. She sits in one of the bar chairs and tucks her legs underneath her. "As I said, we'll begin training today."

The Winchesters are no strangers to pain. Dean has experienced more harsh training sessions in his life than most career fighters, and so he expects that he'll have bruises and aches after these first few sessions. He hopes that Sariel plans on having him fight Sam, because he doubts they can be good sparring partners. She's too tender, and he's too fond of her.

Sariel leads them downstairs to her basement, and training begins with them moving boxes into corners until they have a wide and empty space. When he turns from the last box she already has her blades out, and her eyes are that shining silver he's come to know so well. She holds one of them out to him, and he takes it carefully before meeting her eyes.

"Have you fought with a sword before Dean?"

Sam takes a seat against the wall to watch, and Dean spins the blade once and gives her his sexiest grin. "I've had my fair share of experience with thrust-"He lifts the blade just in time to keep her from splitting his face in half with her own. The clang of metal on metal rings through the basement like church bells, and Sam is on his feet with his mouth open. Dean can't contain his look of shock. "Son of a bitch! You almost killed-"Her blade slides from his and she is moving, spinning it downwards so that it angles at his side. Dean dodges it by a hairsbreadth, and then brings the small sword back around to catch her next slash.

He throws a glance to Sam and sees that his brother is debating stepping in to break up the fight.

Her silver eyes stay focused on Dean as she attacks, and now his attention is entirely absorbed by trying to block or dodge every one of her blows. She goes for his throat, and as he lifts the sword up she changes directions and slides it into his belly. The sensation is painful and he hears Sam screaming no as he looks down to where he is impaled.

The time it takes his eyes to travel back up to hers could be seconds or hours, he's not sure, but he sees the grim ferocity there and has trouble connecting it to the woman who laughed lowly in the back of her throat when she came. She pulls the sword from his stomach, and he hits his knees, hands reflexively going to the wound. There's no blood, and when he looks down he sees that other than a slash in his shirt he is unharmed. Sam is suddenly there, lifting his shirt and looking over his unbroken skin in wonder. They both turn to Sariel.

"Gentleman this is a war, and you're soldiers in the Army now not vigilantes. When we're in this basement we are training for that war. I am not your friend or your lover. I am your Commander. There won't be jokes in here. This is life or death and I refuse to see you die because you stopped to make a smartass comment."

Dean is suddenly reminded of his father, and he reflexively wants to hang his head in shame. He can see that Sam is having the same problem and his grip flexes on the sword before he pushes up and away from Sam. When he faces her this time his stance is firm and there's no trace of a smile in his eyes. She nods coldly. Takes her own stance. "Very good. Let us begin."

The next three hours are filled with the sounds of metal crashing against metal. Dean is "killed" five times in the course of their sparring, and each time he feels pain, but never once is his skin broken. His shirt, on the other hand, is ruined but he is feeling too tired and angry to even make a joke in his own head. When he's finally allowed to sit down and Sam takes the sword from him he just wants to sleep for a year. Never has a training session been this difficult or exhausting and it doesn't help that it hurts him to see Sariel so cold and aggressive. He can't help but wonder if this is the real Sariel, the one who isn't trapped in a physical body and forced to live with mortals. If this is what she'd be like if he had met her in Hell.

Sam's session goes better than Dean's. Sam has always been a quick learner, and he's had three hours to watch Sariel's techniques as she attacks Dean. Dean feels his muscles tightening as he watches her run Sam through the first time. They are an hour in before she lands the blow, and Sam's look of pain wrenches at Dean. He doesn't stop her though. He knows what's at stake here, and he's always been good at absorbing pain for the greater good. It's harder when it's Sam's pain, but he consoles himself that his brother is unharmed. Sam takes a hit again almost an hour later, and this time Dean can't help his cry of anguish, as Sariel slides past his brother's thrust and runs the blade into Sam's back. It hits too close to home and his memories are still too hellishly clear.

He registers that Sariel's blade is out and that she's turned to him. He has time to see the brief flash of remorse in her eyes, and then Sam is swinging the blade and she's ducking underneath it at the last second. Sam swings again and she pulls up to block, but she's just a bit too slow and too distracted. Sam lands his hit, and Dean sees the sword slice her right bicep open. There's blood, but no cry of pain, and Sam has already dropped the sword and approached her before Dean can pull his aching body up from the floor.

Sam's shirt gets wrapped tightly around the slash, and when she looks up from the cut her face is inscrutable. Dean thinks he sees grief there, and some kind of shame, but it could be his imagination. Sam is busy sputtering apologies, and she holds a hand up to silence him. "That was my fault Sam. I got distracted. It's almost lunch time. Are you guys hungry?"

She leaves before they can answer, and Sam turns to stare at Dean from across the basement. Dean doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. Sam follows his example.

* * *

They eat dinner silently, and Dean finds it's hard to lift his fork to his mouth. Every muscle is screaming in protest when he tries to move it, and he's reminded of when he started learning to hunt with his father. John Winchester had taken his Marine training to a new level of intensity when he first brought his oldest son into the fold, and Dean had stared at him with admiration through every moment of pain. Dean's not entirely sure how this is going to work. If he'll return to the old days when he thought there was nothing better than following orders. He doubts it, because honestly time has given him a clearer picture of his childhood and his father. Since the moment John Winchester laid the weight of killing Sam on Dean's shoulders the idyllic pedestal he always put his father on has been crumbling under the weight of reality. He keeps glancing at Sam to see his brother staring at Sariel. Will Sam return to that constant anger, the resentment and petulance that finally drove his brother to leaving the family?

When Sam speaks Dean is almost afraid it has already begun. But Sam's tone is soft and curious. "Have you ever had soldiers before?"

Sariel looked up from her own meal for just a moment, and then back to her plate. "No. I was out of Heaven before they began recruiting humans, and my role in Hell didn't require such an action."

"So Hell has soldiers too?" Sam's eyebrows are raised and Dean can see he's forgotten his meal in the interest of adding to that encyclopedic brain of his.

She nodded carefully and pushed her own plate away. "I've met a few. They are generally rather unpleasant people."

Dean can't help it. He wants to avoid the conversation, but he's interested now. "Will we fight them too, or just demons?"

She shrugged and continued studying her plate. "I don't know Dean. That will be up to the Word. It will assign you missions and you'll carry them out."

"When do we start?" Sam's eyes are bright. Dean can't help his relief at Sam's eagerness. Maybe they'll avoid a breakdown after all.

"When you've earned your weapons. When you prove that you can handle the pressure. When Heaven thinks you're ready. You should finish your dinner." Her face is closing off, and Dean can't be sure if she's avoiding something she thinks is coming, or if she just honestly doesn't like discussing all of this. Sam though, as Sam always does, ignores the signs and rushes forward.

"Why do you call God the Word?" Sam's watching her face, and Dean knows his brother can't have missed the flash of shadows across her face, that bizarre mixture of pain and grief that is sometimes her default expression before she turns it into a blank impenetrable wall.

"God is a term your people created. Buddha, Krishna, Allah, Zeus, all of that is human language putting into context something much more complicated. You assign gender and purpose, and call it good or evil, but in reality the Word is simply the Word. It creates and destroys, It cares for you and abandons you, It simply is. There's no classification that fits It Sam. The Word is the Word."

And Dean wants to stop Sam, knows what Sam is going to ask before he does, but his brother is sometimes unstoppable and the pity on Sam's face only makes his question more painful. "Did the Word abandon you? Like in the stories about Lucifer Falling?"

She's standing before Dean can follow the movement, and the table scrapes the floor as she pushes it away from her in her haste to rise. She is pale, and she doesn't meet Sam's eyes. "That's enough for tonight. We'll begin again tomorrow after breakfast."

* * *

He thought that being a Soldier would be a bit like being a superhero. That he'd suddenly feel stronger and better. The change is too subtle for him to notice it until the first week of training ends with what Sariel calls their "endurance day". When he learns the plan is to go for a run he's overwhelmed with relief. The constant fighting has taken its toll on his connection to Sariel as he wars with the voice inside his head that still taunts him even after all this time. "Daddy's little blunt instrument" indeed. He can see that this change in roles is hurting her, and whenever she isn't pushing them to the limits of their abilities she sits quietly and avoids their eyes. Sam broaches the subject with him on the third day, but he's so angry he can't discuss it.

This is a role reversal for them. Dean has become the petulant naysayer, and Sam argues for Sariel's need to toughen them for the war. At night, when Dean's sleeping beside her without touching her, the logic of this can wash over him, and he'll consider reaching for her and then change his mind. During the day though, when he knows they'll have to enter that basement again Dean can't see this point for the blind rage he feels that she'd treat them like nothing more than troublesome trainees.

Their first endurance day is their sixth day of training, and Sariel makes them run with her through the long and winding back roads of Macy. When they return to the house Dean is soaked in sweat, and out of breath, but he has a high he's never experienced before, and the burn of his muscles is almost pleasant. He finds himself smiling for the first time in days, and he turns to her with that grin on his face. "So what'd we do there? Two, three miles? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm feeling alive!"

Sariel wipes sweat from her brow and smiles back at him. He can see how hesitant that smile is, and he feels a bit of shame for the position he's put her in and how he's reacted, but then she opens the cooler waiting on the front porch and throws a water to Sam and then to him. "That was fifteen miles. Next week you should be up to twenty."

Dean waits for her to laugh, and when she doesn't he lowers the water bottle and looks to Sam. His brother's shock confirms that he heard her right, and he turns back to her to see she's smiling. "What's wrong guys?"

He hears Sam swallow, and then his brother is sitting on the front porch step. "We're not exactly runners Sari. Not distance anyway. People have to train to go that far."

He sees the smile falter on her face, and then watches as it transforms into something forced and uncomfortable. "Not you two. Not anymore." She leaves them standing there.

Dean sits beside Sam and takes a long pull off his water. He can see Sammy's gears working as he chooses his words. "So we're able to run like we've been doing it forever. "Dean waits for Sam to continue. If he lets him, his brother will go through his entire thought process for him, and he can just relax and enjoy the ride. "We've been doing a ridiculous number of sparring hours all week with only sore muscles and bruised egos. By the next morning I always feel fine. Do you?"

Dean grunted his acknowledgement and cast a sly look at Sam. "Sammy. You know what this is right?"

Sam frowns. "What she told us being soldiers would be?"

Dean shakes his head sagely and sips his water. "Our transformation into superheroes."

Sam chokes on his drink, and Dean's slaps to his back are only a little harder than they need to be.

When they finally head inside and finish showering Sariel has prepared lunch, and Dean eats like it's his first meal in ages. In his whole life he's never been as hungry as he has this last week. The air at the table has the same quiet tension they've had for days, and the war he's been waging with himself fades as he finally really sees how Sariel holds herself so carefully around them, and how she avoids making eye contact or sound as if she could disappear through sheer force of will. He forced her hand in taking them as soldiers, and now he's been treating her like a villain for doing her duty.

So Dean does what he's always done, he waits for the moment when the silence has become oppressive and then leans back in his chair and wearily rubs his eyes while letting out the biggest sigh he can manage. When he's sure Sariel and Sam are looking at him he puts on his serious expression and lays his hand over Sariel's. "We have to talk. It's pretty serious, and you're not gonna like it."

His good humor wavered when he saw the look on her face, how she braced for impact. "It's about the shirts Sariel. I'm losing a lot of good shirts, and I don't have that many. Lot of brave little soldiers ending up in the garbage."

Sam laughs first, and it starts as a choked sound and grows. When Sariel joins him, and her eyes close Dean feels a pressure he wasn't aware of lift from his chest. Her hand clenches tight around his, and she meets his eyes when her laughter is under control. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

He's learning more about the rules of Angels than he ever wanted to. He knows, for example, that she's not really allowed to hurt people. She can restrain them, but the discrepancies between what her blades can do to her and what they do to Sam and Dean finally make sense. So he's human enough to not be injured by her swords, but not human enough to be off-limits to her. Interesting. Dean's first question is "When do we get magic weapons?"

"When you can beat me in combat. Now shut up and focus Dean."

Her approach to teaching them has softened slightly, but she still insists on total focus when the blades are out. Dean doesn't exactly blame her. As he and Sam improve they begin to land more blows, and if they're not careful when they do it's Sariel's blood that gets shed.

After three weeks of the constant sessions Dean is becoming used to all the subtle changes that have been building within him. He feels like a million dollars when he wakes up, their endurance runs have reached ridiculous lengths, and their sparring sessions have begun to become pleasant exercise instead of punishment. They're eating breakfast together when Dean senses that someone has come to the door, and that whoever it is they're not human. Sam tilts his head in that direction, and Sariel stands quickly and grips the edge of the table like she's trying to strangle it to death. Sam shoots Dean a look of concern, but she's already releasing the table and heading to the door. She returns to the kitchen with two men in tow, and Dean's alarmed to see how expressionless her face is.

"Dean. Sam. This is Gabriel, and his solider Blake. It looks like today's training session will be a demonstration."

The man directly behind her is tall and willowy, and his dark eyes narrowed as he took them in. He nods stiffly to the Winchesters before turning back to her. "Where will we duel?" Dean tries not to wince at his voice. Michael's voice is deep and rumbling, Sariel's sexy and husky, but Gabriel's voice made the hairs on Dean's body stand up. It sounds the way he's always imagined madness would feel.

She pointed to the door leading into the basement, and then turned towards the hallway. "I'll change."

Gabriel swept through the door with Blake in tow, and Dean looked to Sam. He wasn't comforted to see that his brother shared his dumbfounded expression. "This feel off to you?" Sam's nod is grim. When she re-enters the kitchen she catches Sam's eye and lays her hand on Dean's shoulder. She's changed into familiar black workout pants and one of Dean's wife-beaters. He almost smiles at that.

"This is going to get ugly. Stand against the wall, don't mouth off please, and whatever happens don't start a fight with Blake or Gabriel."

Dean grabbed her hand before she could remove it from his shoulder and she finally met his eyes. Her gaze was already silver, and he could feel how fast her pulse was. "Is he dangerous? What's going on?"

She leaned forward and kissed him. It was almost ferocious, and while Dean couldn't say he didn't enjoy it he was confused. When she pulled back her face was closed off again. "Please Dean, just follow my directions."

They followed her down the stairs, and found Gabriel standing in the center of the floor with his head down and a broadsword in his hands. Sam and Dean took a position against the wall opposite of Blake, and Dean saw the glare the other soldier sent them before he looked back to Gabriel. Sariel took her position in front of the other archangel and unsheathed her own blades.

"Any restrictions Gabriel?" Her head is tilted down, her long hair pulled back, and her scar prominently displayed.

Dean watches him carefully. The archangel is a wild card, and Dean knows the type all too well. Gabriel turns his head to look at them.

"Has your fearless leader told you boys that she was once considered the greatest duelist in Heaven? No I see not. Had she have stayed she could have led the army. Instead, pretty Sariel, Sariel whose laugh was once called the music of Heaven, came back from the Word and gathered many of Heaven's best to go to the Pit. Now here she is, her blades returned and given two soldiers, but all her brothers and sisters lost. How sweet."

Dean can feel that his eyebrows have drawn together in a tight line, and he's looking at Sariel but she is only watching Gabriel. Her face shows nothing. Gabriel's expression is a broad and crazy smile as he watches Dean's look.

"Ah. I see. That is why she did it. She loves you. One brother sells his soul, and the other is intrinsically evil. Then again, she always had a taste for tainted flesh."

When Sariel moves it's too fast for Dean to follow, but he hears the unearthly scream she lets out before she advances. It occurs to him that he honestly thought she was fighting them to the best of her ability when they trained. He was wrong. She is a whirlwind of blades, and Gabriel laughs madly as he fends off her blows. His defenses fail for a moment, and she takes first blood and comes away from him and back into her stance. Dean can see that her hands are steady, and her eyes are full of a familiar defiance and hatred.

"You see that look Blake? That's the same look she had when Lucifer cut her pretty face. Isn't it lovely? Much lovelier than the false one she wore before."

Dean's hands are clenched so tightly he can't feel his fingers. Blake catches his eye and laughs. Sariel remains still and watches the floor.

"Nothing to say? No humorous comments? No laughter? You've changed Sariel. It's sad to see you fallen so low you cannot even directly communicate with the Word."When her eyes come up Dean knows what's about to happen before her lips move. He knows that look. He's had it himself a time or two before he dared some monster to kill him.

"What bothers you the most? That Lucifer came with me, or that the memories of you didn't stop him from Falling?"

It is Gabriel's turn to scream, to swing the large sword wildly as he attacks. She catches each blow, and Dean sees that her arms are shaking with the effort, but she's taunted a mad dog and now she has to defend. She catches the sword in between her blades and twists viciously, and when it clatters from his hands she pulls one blade up to his throat. Her eyes are feral, and Dean is both afraid and aroused. With her teeth bared she turns to Blake. "What did your Lord do wrong?" Her voice is death itself.

Blake's eyes are very wide. "I-"

"Your Lord fights for the wrong reason. Soldiers, what are we fighting for?"

It's a topic they've never discussed, but Dean knows the right answer without having to be told. "To kill evil sons of bitches."

The smile she affords him goes straight to his groin. "That is correct. To fight evil. Not old grudges."

She lowers her blade and turns, and Dean sees the dagger in Gabriel's hand the second she does. "Sari-"

She spins and throws her hand out, and Gabriel flies across the room and smashes into the basement's stone wall. She drops both blades and is on him before Dean can blink, driving her fists into his face in a rhythmic motion. Her lips are pulled back in a snarl, and Dean can see that this is going to end in death if no one stops it. The voice that rolls across all of them calling for her to halt is desperate and hard, and Dean recognizes it instantly. He never thought he'd be relieved to hear it.

Michael takes the steps quickly, and kneels in front of Gabriel as Sariel steps aside. His eyes move back to her, and then lower to the floor. "I am sorry. I thought he was contained. This will not happen again."

Her nod is stiff, and Dean bites back a comment as Michael lifts Gabriel and leaves. Blake follows with his head down. Dean waits till they've gone before he catches her, and she lets him hold her while she shakes. He feels the pressure on her shoulder, and looks up to see Sam standing over them, his face sympathetic and kind.

She leads them back up to the kitchen wordlessly, her blades left on the floor of the basement. Dean sits beside Sam at the bar and they watch her movements as she mechanically pulls chicken breasts out of the fridge and begins to season them. He can't help but notice how bloody and ripped her knuckles are. When her voice finally emerges it is tight and angry. "It's not true."

He feels his eyebrows jerk up and down, but it's Sam who speaks. "What's that?"

"You're not intrinsically evil." Her voice is vicious when she spits out the last two words. Dean watches her turn the oven on and shove the chicken in. When she spins back to them her eyes are wide and her nostrils flare. She's angry. Angrier than Dean has ever seen her. Her gaze focuses on Sam. "Gabriel is an idiot for not seeing what you two are."

Dean reaches out slowly and puts a hand over her bloody fingers, feels the tension as she grips the countertop and shakes. "Ok. Ok sweetheart we get that."

Her head shakes, and she pulls her hands away from him. "I hate him. Heaven help me I hate him."

Sam's look is concerned, and Dean lets his expressive brother take over the conversation. He's afraid he'll say the wrong thing. "What did he do to you?"

Sam doesn't know about what happened to her outside of that little church. Dean has never shared that moment with his brother. He rubs at his mouth for a moment while Sariel struggles with words. Her eyes close and all the tension leaves her body as she leans against the countertop. "When I returned to Heaven I was… I never planned on actually returning. I knew that I would not be let back in. Gabriel was tasked with escorting me back to Lucifer to be marked. He was quite pleased with the assignment."

Sam stood suddenly and moved around the bar to grab her into a tight hug. Dean watched them, and was almost amused at how easily Sam's large body engulfed her. Still, overshadowing the thin thread of amusement was the knowledge that the archangel that stood in their basement just a few minutes ago was responsible for so much of her pain. He wished that he'd known. He might have ganked the bastard then. Sam's voice was low and comforting. "Fuck him then. We know better."

Dean saw her tense for a moment, and then she gently pushed herself out of Sam's arms. "I have to start the peas."

* * *

There's something tugging at the back of Dean's mind as he lies down beside her that night. She'd argued Gabriel's insults towards himself and Sam, but not the one he leveled at her. He feels her fingers stroke the side of his face, and he turns to look at her in the moonlight. She pitches her voice low and soothing. "What's bothering you?"

He leaned in to her touch and watched her expression when he responded. "That thing you said about Lucifer and Gabriel. They were together?"

There was hesitation. "Not like that. Angels aren't supposed to indulge in pleasures of the flesh. With other angels it is frowned upon, with humans and demons it is expressly forbidden."

Her fingers traced his lower lip and he bit gently at the pad of one and watched her smile weakly. "But you do."

He grabbed her wrist before she could pull it back and licked the inside of it. "Yes. I do." There was something there. Something deep and frightening in her voice that Dean couldn't figure out, and damn if he suddenly wished he was Sam. It was so easy for his brother to get people to admit to their troubles, to simply open up and let it all out. Dean could sweet talk and interrogate with the best of them, but Sam was the one who received confessions.

"Are you in trouble 'cause of this?" He gestured between them, and her eyes softened in the moonlight as she took in his motion.

"I was in trouble long before this. What we do won't change my situation."

"So when he said you had a taste for-"

Her lips covered his and slanted before he could finish. He recognized the tactic for what it was. Desperation for silence. They'd never really discussed her time in Hell or what she did there. Dean wasn't even sure he wanted to know what she had done before. This was who she was, this woman in bed with him, and that should be enough. Had to be enough. He let her end the conversation and wrapped his fingers into her long hair.

They were gentle with each other, and he slid his hands against the warmth of her skin and rubbed one rough thumb across a puckered nipple as she moaned into his mouth. He slid his free hand into her shorts and stroked the silk of her thigh while she mapped the planes of his ribs with her own hand. The pace never changed, and when they'd divested themselves of clothing and she mounted him he watched her close her eyes and tilt her head upwards to face Heaven. There was defiance in every line of her face, and he wondered if she was trying to prove to the other angels or to herself that none of it mattered.

Her whole history lay almost bare, and Dean knew as he pushed up into her that if he asked now she'd spill all those secrets out to him. This was when they were most exposed to each other, when they could be completely honest and open. Dean often thought it a blessing that she had the same emotional reserves as him, but this wasn't one of those times. He held one of her hips while his other hand stroked her face, and she finally met his eyes and saw his curiosity.

"Ask me." Her voice is fierce and sad.

He pushed himself up and captured her lips again as she gripped his shoulders. When he pulled back her eyes were wide. "Do you love me?"

She wrapped her arms around him and moved with him. When he tilted his hips just right she gasped and closed her eyes again. "More than Heaven itself."

And that was definitely enough.

* * *

Dean wins a match against her. In one move he disarms her, and in the next he has the blade pressed against her throat. Sam follows his example three days later. The day afterwards, she comes into the kitchen to announce they have their first mission.

* * *

**I have to say this again because it's worth repeating. When I started writing this I had just begun watching the show. As of the final edit of this chapter they've introduced the Gabriel character and this story's Gabriel is certainly not that one. It's based more off of the _In Nomine_ Gabriel. Same goes for Michael. **


	9. Mama Told Me Not to Come

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Nine: Mama Told Me Not to Come

"Well I don't know why I came here tonight,/ I got the feeling that something ain't right,/ I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair,/ And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs,"- The Stealers "Stuck in the Middle With You"

Dean is excited. The box that sits in front of him has just been delivered by the same messenger that gave Sariel their mission. It's his weapon, and he wants to open it, but he's spent the last five minutes waiting on Sariel to come out of her trance. When her eyes clear and she looks up he and Sam begin to rip open boxes like kids at Christmas. Dean sees the gun, and there's a moment of hesitation before he takes it out of the box. It's gorgeous, light, and the clip seems to be welded shut. Which is sort of fucking weird. He shoots her a puzzled look. "I've been training with swords."

She blinked. "Yes?"

"This is a gun. You've been kicking our asses for a month with swords."

She nodded. "Yes."

"But this-"

Sam pulled a sawed-off shotgun from his own box. His eyes met Dean's puzzled gaze for a moment and then he turned to Sariel. "I've got a gun too. Why were we training with swords?"

"Because the two of you are excellent shots."

Dean's mouth opened and then closed as he considered this. He rubbed his eyebrow for a moment, ran his hand over his hair, shook his head, and then looked up. "Ok, so what's the mission?"

"You're going to Omaha. There's a demon there who's working on a mass soul buy. It'll be set up as a very fancy orgy, and the two of you need to take him out before he starts collecting new souls. We'll get you fitted for tuxes this afternoon and I'll forge your invites. "

She looked them up and down for a moment and then frowned at the smile slowly spreading over Dean's face. "What's funny Dean?"

"You're taking us to an orgy in Omaha?"

She shook her head. "I'm not taking you anywhere. This isn't my mission."

"I thought you said you'd be there in case we got in over our heads?" Sam's voice is light, but Dean can see a mixture of confusion and concern. Dean doesn't need to ask why. The last time they left her she was taken hostage.

"Guys, the team Heaven recruited is Sam and Dean Winchester. There's a reason for that. Sam and Dean are an unstoppable force against evil. Sam and Dean Winchester can handle one demon at an orgy. You've never needed me before, and I doubt you'll get into a situation where you need me this time. Now, there's one more point and I've been hesitating to mention it but there's no time to be gentle."

Her hands reached out to lightly grip Dean's, and she gave him a look of pity. "Your car Dean."

"What about my car?"

"These are going to be very rich people. Remarkably rich people. The Impala will blow your cover."

Dean pulled his hands back and looked at her in horror. "You want me to leave my baby? And drive what? Your Toyota?"

"Well I have a car in the garage that might do. It probably needs washing, but I'm sure it runs fine."

Dean shot Sam an ugly look when Sam started laughing. "Let's see this damn thing."

It occurred to Dean as they walked out to the garage and she turned on the lights that he'd never been in here. Standing in the middle of a dusty room was a tarp covered vehicle, and when she pulled the cover off Dean felt his heart stutter. He stepped forward and touched it reverently.

"This is a '69 Boss Mustang 557." He pushed past Sam to the front of the car and pulled the cotter pins to lift the hood. His eyes traveled along immaculate hoses and across the V8 lovingly.

She tilted her head and looked at it thoughtfully. "Yeah. It needs to be washed I know."

Dean turned on her accusingly. "You have this car sitting in your garage under a tarp? You drive a Camry! Why is this under a tarp?"

"The Camry gets better gas mileage?"

Dean's look of horror goes unshared as Sam and Sariel both laugh at him. He has to turn away, because he has an image to uphold and seeing them like that makes him want to smile in return. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore."

* * *

Sariel's eyes were full of hunger as she adjusted Dean's bow-tie. "Remember guys, this is going to be fairly quick. In and out, and nobody gets hurt."

"I thought we weren't joining the orgy?" She slapped his shoulder, but her eyes danced with laughter.

* * *

_Omaha, Nebraska_

"If she puts that car back under a tarp Sam I'm gonna scream. That's a crime. A damn crime."

They were approaching the guards at the front door of the mansion, and Dean tried to look casual as Sam pulled out the invite and handed it to them. It wasn't the biggest house they had ever been to, but it was damn large. The crowd was made up of every age and body type Dean could imagine, and he was disheartened to see that not many of them were gorgeous heiresses. He wasn't planning on picking anybody up, but it would have been nice to have some window-shopping time. Sam's eyes are everywhere.

"So what do you think Dean? The host?"

Dean reached out to grab hors d'oeuvres from a passing tray. "Yeah probably. So where do we find him?"

Sam frowned and continued to scan the crowd. People were approaching one another with little introductions and then pairing off to head into grand rooms off of the main ballroom. Dean occasionally sees glimpses of flesh behind those doors, and he's not sure if he wants a better look or not. There's curiosity, but he can see how many of these people have traveled far over the hill. He spots a hot brunette and heads towards her with Sam trailing after him.

There's no adjustment period, Dean knows this game better than he knows his own name. He leans against the wall beside her and gives her his best grin. "So you already got an orgy buddy?"

Her eyes travel the length of his body before focusing on his face. "Are you and your partner offering?"

It takes Dean a moment, and then he realizes what she's saying. "That's my brother." He fights to keep the tension out of the statement. Her grin broadens, and Dean feels a disquiet he never has before.

She licks exquisite lips. "Well that's even better. Which room would you two like?"

Dean can't speak. His charm fails him in the wake of his disgust. Sam takes over, and he sees that his brother is controlling his reactions better. "Actually we wanted to thank the host first. Any idea where we can find him?"

She grins and slides two fingers up Sam's thigh. "Her actually. Upstairs. She's at the end of the hall after you take a right. I could meet you guys up there afterwards. Those are the specialty rooms."

Sam swallows. "That would be great. We'll see you there." The brunette winks before sliding off, and Sam shakes himself before turning to Dean. "Specialty rooms?"

"Don't wanna know Sammy. Trust me. Let's just get this done and get out of here. Orgies are gonna be ruined forever."

No one tries to stop them as they head up the stairs, and Dean studiously avoids looking into any of the rooms around them. They reach the final door, and Dean pulls his gun before pushing it open. What he sees inside stops him cold. Sariel is tied to the bed naked. Her wrists are rubbed raw and her face is puffy, and Dean can see that someone has been on her. In her. He rushes across the room and rips at the ropes holding her. She's shaking, and her arms wrap around him. "Oh Dean. Dean. Thank you."

Behind him he hears Sam. "Dean. Man step back from her."

He shoots his brother a look of astonishment before turning back to Sariel. Her eyes are red again. "Dean. Touch me. Save me." Her hands are everywhere, and Dean can't figure out how he thought this was her. The smell is wrong, and the feel is all off. When he pulls back and shoves her violently she laughs, and the laugh is vicious and hateful. He sees her now, blonde and buxom and nothing like his girl. Then he's flying across the room one way and Sam the other, slamming into the wall like two ragdolls.

"You Winchesters. Ever the dramatic heroes." Her fingers slide down to trace one nipple, and she smiles slyly. "The offer still stands Dean."

He puts a bullet in her without thinking, and when the body sits back up her eyes are wide and horrified and her hand is pressed to her unmarked forehead. So the guns work just like the swords and Dean would love to celebrate that but he's too goddamn shaken. Sam moves forward and wraps his tuxedo jacket around her, whispering soothing words as he promises her safety and rescue. Dean is still shaking. They exit the room, and stride past the orgy participants without acknowledging any of them.

They leave the crying girl with one of the valets, and the man actually looks nauseous when he sees her. Dean takes that as a sign she is safe with him.

There is air rushing through the Ford as they drive back, but Dean can't seem to get a full breath.

* * *

Sariel is waiting for them, and Dean's control breaks at the sight of her. He hears Mick Jagger singing about wild horses through the speakers as he pushes her against the wall and buries his face in her hair. She is unharmed, clothed, here at home, and Dean is so glad he can't speak beyond releasing her name. Her arms go around him, and her voice is amused and confused. "You reek of demon Dean."

Sam speaks for him. "The demon took your form. Gave Dean a hell of a scare."

When he pulls back to see her face he gets a good look at her surprise before he runs his fingers down her scar. "Upstairs." His voice is gruff and thick, and he lifts her without waiting for her answer. He spends the night tasting every part of her body, and he's only partially sure he hasn't gone batshit insane. She tries at first to soothe him, and when he's not buying it she simply lays still and lets him map out every curve and line. After an hour of this she's begging him alternately to stop and to _get the fuck on with it_. When he finally enters her his pace is frantic, and she holds onto him and matches it without a question. Afterwards he holds her tightly, listens to her sleeping, feels her heartbeat. He realizes he can't imagine a life without her, and that scares him worse than seeing her in that room did.

* * *

__

Lubbock, Texas

Two days after their first mission for Heaven Dean finds a hunt, and he talks Sam into it. Sariel gave him a kiss goodbye, and then hugged Sam tightly. They headed for Colorado, and there Dean gleefully killed a nest of vampires. When they got back into the car Sam slept through them passing the highway that would take them back to Macy. When Sam wakes, and sees how far off course they are his voice is hesitant. "Dean? Where are we man?"

"Headed for Utah. Been looking at the news and it sounds like a shape shifter. Damn I hate those things."

"Did you tell Sariel we were going on another hunt?"

When it comes out, Dean's voice is as casual as he can make it. "No. I'll call her when we stop."

They had spent a week in Utah, and then Dean had started reading the stories about people in Lubbock going missing, and coming back strange. When he and Sam get in the car and he turns south he can see his little brother struggling with the urge to talk. Sam loses this fight, as he usually does.

"Hey Dean. Want to discuss whatever's going on? Cause I gotta tell you man you're starting to freak me out. Starting to freak Sari out too."

"What's to be freaked out about? We're hunting. That's what we do Sam. We hunt."

"Dean we're not just hunters, and we're not homeless loners anymore. We have a place to go after hunts man. A place you used to like going to. So what's going on?"

Dean reached over, turned on the radio, and twisted the knob viciously to the right.

By the time they reached Lubbock Sam's bitch face was firmly in place, and Dean didn't want to deal with it. They landed in another seedy motel, and Dean showered and went to sleep as quickly as possible. He heard Sam leave the room, and he rolled over and covered his face. This was going to be a difficult one.

* * *

They'd been in Lubbock two weeks and the hunt was going badly. Sam was being difficult, no one new had gone missing, and they couldn't seem to get past the defenses of any of the people in town. Everyone was suspicious and Dean was experiencing a three day headache. It didn't help that Sam's face was getting progressively bitchier as each night he offered Dean the phone, and every time Dean refused it. He'd zeroed in on the first man to go missing, Liam Taggard, and he was currently sitting in the diner across from Sam watching as Liam's fiancé took orders and waited for her man to show up. Taggard may have been the first one to go missing, but so far he was the only one who hadn't gone crazy or tucked himself into isolation. He was also the last to return. It was making Dean crazy, and he rubbed his temples while he studied Laura's tense expression.

"Dean, maybe we should talk about what's going on here."

Dean didn't even look at his little brother. "We've been talking about it Sammy. We haven't gotten anywhere talking about it. Still have no idea what's going on or why Taggard is unaffected."

He heard Sam groan, and when he finally looked back he could see Sam was completely fed up. Dean knew the look of Sam on the edge, and this was long past that.

"Not this case Dean. Macy. Sariel. Home. We need to talk about that."

Movement outside the plate glass windows caught Dean's eye. "Sam." His voice was low and harsh.

"We need to discuss why you're-"

Dean was up and moving, and he only had to beat Laura to the door before the events he saw in his mind's eye played out. He felt Sam grab at his sleeve, and it slowed him down the millimeter of a second required for Taggard to open the door and Laura to look up. Dean saw the gun, and he watched as Laura registered it too. She held up her hand as if to block the bullet, and Dean was moving before he knew what was happening. He hit Taggard head on, and the shot went wild as he slammed the man back through the glass door of the diner. When he pushed up he saw the piece of glass sticking through Taggard's chest, and he was surprised to see that the crazy asshole was trying to talk. His eyes were pleading, and Dean couldn't understand what the words were, but he knew the look.

Sam's hands grabbed his shoulders and he was being lifted away from Taggard as the man fell backwards. "Dean, man, your shoulder. Shit."

Dean looked down and saw that he was bleeding. When he looked back up he caught a flash of Laura's face, vicious with hate, before it crumpled into grief and she fell over Taggard. He stumbled away with Sam's arm around his shoulders.

* * *

"Jesus Sam did you see that? He almost shot her." He plastered the gauze over the cut on his shoulder as Sam stared at him from across the room.

"Dean what was he trying to say?"

"I don't know man he wasn't getting anything out. Just mouthing shit and dying. It was weird."

Sam's brow crinkled, and his eyes unfocused as he looked into the distance. "The blood."

Dean tilted his head. "What about blood?" He pushed the tape as flat as possible and pulled a new shirt back on over it.

"There wasn't enough. In fact, other than your blood I don't think I saw any."

Dean could feel his brain trying to put the pieces together, and he saw that flash of Laura's hate before it clicked. "Revenant. Corpses don't bleed Sam."

When his brother looked up there was a potent mixture of admiration and understanding. It was fucking wonderful to see after long weeks of suspicion and disappointment. "Laura brought him back. So what about the others?"

Dean frowned as he sat down across from Sam and rubbed at his neck. "Well let's say they all died and she just really liked her neighbors."

Sam's thoughtful grimace returned instantly. "No. We checked, and there wasn't any real connection between her and the others. Plus if she raised Taggard first why was he the last to come back?"

Dean could feel the answer scratching at the back of his brain, and he tried to pull it forward but it danced away from him. "Shit Sam I don't know, but if we know the answer we just need to get them back in their graves and bury them again. We'll figure out the reason later."

He saw Sam hesitate. "Man, what if-"Dean's cell phone rang, and he glanced at the caller id before putting it back in his pocket. The ringing continued, and Sam stared at him coldly as he ignored it. When it finally stopped Dean felt the clenching in his gut relax until Sam's phone began to ring. He grabbed it from Sam before he could answer and popped it open.

"This isn't a good time." It was almost a growl.

When she replied her voice was hesitant but calm. "Dean. There's a situation in Dodge City with-"

"We're on a hunt Sariel. It's going to have to wait a day or two."

He heard her take a deep breath, and then in a voice that spoke of restraint she said, "We don't have a day or two Dean. It's-"

He hung up and threw the phone to Sam. "Let's go stop Laura."

Practice. Laura had been killing her fellow townspeople to practice resurrection spells for Taggard. Dean finally understood Taggard's look of pleading. He'd wanted to be dead, and he knew killing Laura would do the trick. When they'd gone for Taggard's body and ran into Laura Dean thought it would be the easiest thing in the world to put her off so that they could rebury him, but she'd attacked. It was Taggard that killed her. Dean was more than surprised when all the revenants dropped behind him, and he shared a look with Sam before they packed up and headed back for Macy. It wasn't like they'd run into a lot of resurrected corpses, certainly fewer than Dean wanted, but to have such a strong sympathetic link between the caster and the corpses…

Sam wasn't talking to him, and Dean wasn't surprised. His brother had tried to call Sariel back, but all he'd gotten was her voicemail. They were thirty minutes outside of Macy when Sam finally turned the radio off and looked at Dean.

"What if she was in trouble Dean? Couldn't you have at least listened to her before you hung up?"

Dean glanced longingly at the radio. "She didn't sound like she was in dire circumstances Sammy. She's a damn archangel. Way more powerful than us. She can handle whatever it was."

Sam punched the dashboard, and Dean gave him the most murderous look in his arsenal. It didn't work this time.

"For a man who hates chick-flick movie moments you sure as hell love to recreate the plots."

Dean pulled the Impala over in a cloud of dust and turned to Sam. "What the fuck are you talking about Sam? Let's get it out. Tell me all about your feelings right now so that we can avoid doing it again when we get to Macy."

"You mean when we get home Dean? We were calling it home not too long ago, and now you're back to calling it Macy. What are you so scared of man?"

Dean squeezed the wheel in a death grip and stared ahead down the dark road. "I'm not scared of anything. I just want to get this over with so we don't have to act like sisters anymore."

The punch came out of nowhere, and Dean's head snapped to the side and hit the window. When he turned to Sam in shock he saw that his little brother was shaking. "I like her! I like having a home! You're hurting her and you're hurting me, but most of all Dean you're hurting yourself. This all started with that damn mission. You're afraid to love her because you might lose her so you're going to run her away. It's the plot of every cheesy love movie ever made man and I'm fucking sick of it."

Dean wanted to hit Sam. He wanted to scream right back at him, but he suddenly didn't have the energy. He watched as the fight drained out of Sam too, and his little brother slumped back against the seat. "Do what you're going to do Dean, but get us there. I want to make sure she's all right."

Dean started the Impala back up and pulled onto the road. After a few minutes of tense silence he spoke quietly. "Sam-"

"Shut up Dean. Shut up and drive." Sam turned the radio on and went back to staring out of his window.

* * *

The lights were on when they arrived, and Dean was amazed to see Bobby's car in the driveway. Sam shot out of the Impala, and Dean followed him as his brother's long stride ate up the pathway and into the house. They stood in the entranceway for a moment, and then they heard a groan of pain followed closely by Bobby's familiar and gruff voice.

"I know it hurts darlin' but you're gonna have to sit still 'cause I'm working with wounded paws here."

Dean pushed past Sam and slammed his way into the brightly lit kitchen. The sight in front of him left him speechless. Bobby was standing at the bar, carefully holding a needle in between burned fingers. His face was bruised and bloody, and he was missing his signature hat. Sitting on a chair in front of him was Sariel, her head tilted to the side to expose a deep gash where her shoulder met her neck. She was staring at the floor, and Dean could see that she was sooty and covered in dried blood. Bobby was trying to sew her closed and doing a terrible fucking job of it with his injured hands.

Without speaking Dean crossed the room and moved his old friend out of the way. He registered Bobby's look of disapproval silently as Sam dug through the first aid kit for burn ointment. "Well it's awful good of you boys to show up. Glad you could make it." Bobby's voice is way past scornful, and Dean remembers the first time he heard this tone. He'd been fifteen and Bobby caught him necking with a witness's daughter in the backseat of the Impala when he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the house they were staking out.

Sam's voice shook a bit as he began to smear ointment over Bobby's fingers. "What happened?"

Dean studied the gash for a moment. It was ragged at the edges, and he was fairly sure it had been made with clawed fingers instead of a weapon. When he began the process of stitching it closed she made no noise, but her grey eyes swept shut and her lips pulled into a thin line. He could only watch as his hands moved steadily and smoothly.

"Had a job down in Dodge City. Was s'posed to be one demon, but I got bushwhacked by about eight of them. Managed to lock myself up in a farmhouse, and tried to call you two, but Sariel here said you'd been gone a while. "He hissed when Sam started to wrap his hands, and Sam muttered an apology. "Said she'd try to get ya, but then she shows up alone. Lucky damn thing for me, 'cause they'd just lit the house on fire. Barely got out."

Dean's hands were on autopilot as he worked, his eyes roaming over her skin to look for more injuries. She had another gash on her side, but he didn't think it would need stitches. He pulled the last one tight and then tied it off. He reached for the gauze.

"Drove her back myself. When were you boys gonna tell me the truth 'bout how you broke the deal?"

Dean's eyes lifted to see Bobby glaring at him, and then he looked down to Sariel. She still hadn't reopened her eyes, and her head was still tilted to allow him access to the wound. He put the gauze over it and started to carefully tape. Sam answered Bobby instead.

"Sorry Bobby. We just didn't know how much you'd want to know, or how much you'd believe."

Dean heard Bobby grunt, and he finished taping and knelt down to slide his fingers up and down Sariel's sides, checking for broken ribs or tenderness before he began cleaning the second cut. She was motionless and he studied her grim face as he worked.

"Well I woulda liked to have known I'd met an archangel, and I'd have hoped you boys would be past keeping secrets from me. "

Sariel's eyes opened and looked through Dean as she lifted them to Bobby. "Sorry Bobby. They were keeping my secret."

Dean couldn't help but glance to Bobby, and the look of tenderness there threw him off. He'd seen it before, but usually only directed at himself or his brother.

"Aw hell I'm not mad about it. Nice to know there're good guys too. Also, you saved my ass today. I owe ya one."

Dean couldn't take it anymore. "Bobby, Sam, this is real touching but could you both leave the room. I gotta talk to her real quick."

Sam shot him a look, and then his little brother showed the defiant face he'd perfected over the years as he looked at Sariel for permission. She nodded once, and Sam left with Bobby in tow.

When they were gone Dean poured betadine over her side, and then dried it softly with gauze before bandaging it. "Why'd you risk your life to save Bobby?" His voice is savage and he barely recognizes it. He keeps his eyes on the bandage.

"That's what angels do Dean. They save-"

"Bullshit. Don't lie to me right now." He can't understand why he sounds so vicious. He doesn't want to be. He wants to grab her in his arms and hold her until she's not throwing herself in front of trains for him every five minutes. He wants to get up and leave the kitchen, leave the comfy house, and the friendly little town, and drive until he can't remember any of it. Instead he sits as still as possible and continues to look at the blood seeping into the white of the gauze.

She sighed, and he watched her shift in front of him. "Because I like him. Because I love you and Sam. Because he's like a father to the two of you. Knowing he'd died would have killed you."

Dean sits very still and listens to the defeat in her voice. She's kind enough to leave out the part where knowing he could have stopped it would have been a hundred times worse. When she's done he puts his forehead against her knee and lets out a breath. His own voice is just as defeated when he responds. "I give up."

The muscles in her thigh tense and release. "I don't understand your meaning."

"I give up Sariel. I can't do this anymore."

Her voice is softer now, and her hand tentatively strokes his hair. "Then don't."

He's glad he doesn't have to explain, glad he doesn't have to fight to put into words what had him running away from her and everything she stood for. "I can't understand what it is about me that makes you so ready to forgive me. You should be angry. Hell if I were you I'd be furious. I'd kick my ass."

Her knee slides out from under his face, and she's on the floor now looking at him. Her grey eyes are sad and dark, but he sees a light there that she didn't have when he first came in. "I am angry. I am very angry. But what's the point in yelling Dean? A fight would make you leave again, and we'd be just as miserable. I've been miserable for a very long time and I'd like to be happy for once." Her bloody hands cupped his face, and he let her stroke his cheekbones as she stared at him. "You are everything that is good about humanity. Your devotion to Sam, your strength in the face of evil, your prevailing sense of humor and mischief. You give me hope that everything I did was for the right reasons, and that's a powerful thing. I just wish you'd see that good in yourself for once instead of making me tell you."

And he's kissing her, kissing her like she's a cold drink of water after days in the desert. He hears Sam come back in the kitchen and then leave just as quickly. He hears soft conversation out in the living room and footsteps on the stairs, but for the moment the only thing that matters to him is what's right in front of him. When he pulls back her eyes are full of hunger, but he knows that no matter how tough her body might be she can't take what he'd give her tonight. When they come together again it will be rough, and he knows better than to try to be gentle. There's too much between them at the moment. She lets him lift her from the floor, and she leans against him as he takes her upstairs and uses a washcloth to lift the blood and grime from her skin. They sleep wrapped up in each other, and Dean allows himself to think of this as home again.

* * *

Their pattern begins again. Leave for a hunt, return and rest, leave again. When Heaven comes calling again they are away, and their return finds her sitting in the kitchen with a small object in front of her. Dean peers at it, then at her considering gaze, and then back to it. He crosses the room and drops his duffel bag on the floor so he can sit beside her.

Sam enters silently and watches them both for a moment before he points to it. "Is there something wrong with that votive?" Of course Sam would know the proper name for a candle. Girl.

Dean sees that she's startled, and she looks at Sam in alarm for a moment before she refocuses on the little candle. It's the color of fresh grass, and it looks like it's been lit once or twice. Her fingers move towards it, and then swerve away. "Yes. There is something wrong with it. You two have another mission."

"Demon in a candle factory?" Dean keeps his voice light while he reaches for the little votive. She grabs his hand before he can touch it.

"No. Dublin, Georgia. The Reapers have been having a problem. This candle will let you speak with one."

Dean feels a cold breeze that he knows isn't really there, and Sam meets his eyes and gives him a look of concern. "Uh, Sari, we ain't really friends with Reapers. In fact we've sorta been a pain in their ass once or twice."

"Yes Dean, I know. They mentioned that. But they've petitioned Heaven, and we're honor bound to help them. So you two will need to leave the day after tomorrow. I'll be going with you."

At this Dean raises both eyebrows. "I thought the team was Dean and Sam? What happened to that?"

Her fingers stroked the countertop as she considered the candle. "I will be watching. I'm not allowed to help you unless there is an emergency."

Sam stepped forward. "But you think there will be? Heaven didn't tell you to ride along did they?"

She met Sam's gaze steadily. "They didn't, and I do."

She rode in the back of the Impala, and Dean couldn't help his constant glances in the rearview mirror. The first night they stop to rest she goes into the motel's lobby and comes back with one room key. He gives her a look but she ignores it. It's strange to sleep wrapped up with her with Sam a bed away. It throws Dean off. It's only made worse by the fact that he's suspicious if she slept at all. When he wakes she's already up and has breakfast for them. He eats his donuts while watching her.

The rest of the ride is as quiet as the beginning, and Dean can already tell that this is off but he can't seem to make himself question her. Sam is having the same problem and that only throws Dean further away from normalcy. When they reach Dublin she points them to a hotel that is much nicer than their normal fare.

She draws a complicated sigil with chalk on the wood floor of the hotel's sitting room while Sam goes over the incantation she's given them. She places the candle in the center with care, and then lights it and steps back. Sam's Latin, as always, is perfect. Dean remembers how proud their father was of Sam's quick grasp of it. Dean himself always had trouble with conjugation, but then again it never really interested him much. He's memorized enough to get by without having to worry about intricate translations.

When the lights flicker and dim Dean looks up to see a slim man standing in the center of the circle. He considers them coolly. "This is what Heaven sent us? The Winchesters and a half-angel?" His eyes are narrowed at Sariel.

Sam steps forward. "We're pretty good at problem solving. What's going on around here?"

The Reaper focuses on Sam. "There has been nothing to Reap in the last three weeks."

Dean bites his lip for a moment before taking the reins. "What, like, nobody's dying? I don't see how that's an issue."

The Reaper's look is sarcastic. "I won't get into the particulars of death and the natural order with you Dean. I mean there is nothing to Reap when people die. There are no souls coming out of the bodies."

Dean swallows and Sam glances at Sariel before speaking. "Like they're all selling them?"

"No. Even if a human sells their soul we Reap it before they go downstairs. This is something new."

Dean leaned forward and tried to control his voice. "What about the hell hounds? Why do you need to be there if they are?"

"A hell hound is simply a messenger. It causes death and then ferries the soul onwards. We must still be there to sever the connection." The Reaper's eyes moved to Sariel. "Why are you not involved in this questioning?"

Dean grinned carelessly, knew the expression didn't meet his eyes. "She's on vacation."

The Reaper frowned and looked at her. "So all they sent me was the Winchesters? Does Heaven not realize how important this is?"

Sariel finally stepped forward, and her face was solemn and sad. "Heaven is very interested in resolving your problem, but they've determined that this is not the work of demons. As such their intervention is being handled in a roundabout manner. With soldiers."

"Fine. Fix it."

Sam raised a calming hand and stepped closer to the edge of the circle. "Do you have any idea what could be doing this?"

"Not a single one. I'd suggest you follow the latest obits." With that the Reaper vanished, and the candle guttered out. Dean turned to look at Sam.

"That guy was an asshat."

* * *

Sariel had stayed behind at the hotel while they went to the first of a long list of houses. Dean adjusted his tie as Sam considered the small and neatly kept lawn. The woman that answered the door was drawn and pale, and Dean recognized the look of grief instantly. Sam unleashed the dimples and went to work. "Hello ma'am. We're from Surety Life Insurance. We had a few questions about your husband's death."

She considered the two of them for a moment before letting them in. Dean studied the living room carefully and followed her lead when she gestured they should take the couch. There was a huge portrait picture of her smiling beside a slightly portly middle-aged man. A small boy stood in front of them with a forced grin.

"Mrs. Delano, we understand that this is a rough time for you, but can you tell us about your husband's death?"

She sniffled and looked away for a moment before turning back to Sam. "Well, Gary was supposed to be fixing a leak in the roof, but it had rained the day before. I asked him not to go up there, but Gary was always real serious 'bout that kinda thing. Pride in ownership he always said. So he climbed the ladder, and then-"she let out a harsh sob and covered her mouth. Sam leaned forward.

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am. Was Gary acting at all funny before he went on the roof?"

Dean saw her eyes narrow in suspicion. "What do you mean funny? Like was he drunk? My husband wasn't a drunk."

Sam immediately started shaking his head and Dean cut in. "No ma'am, we're not suggesting anything of the sort. It's more of a medical problem we're looking for. Blurry vision, hallucinations, hysteria. That sorta thing." He deepened his Kansas drawl to reassure her.

Her face relaxed. "No. No Gary didn't mention any of that."

"I'm sorry I upset you ma'am. I think we're done here." Sam stood and gave her a sad smile. "Once again we are very sorry for your loss."

There was a trick to questioning witnesses that Dean had learned from his father at a very early age. It didn't always work but just in case the exit walk had to be kept just the right speed. As they were crossing the threshold she called out, and they turned together. Dean had time to think that it was really a beautiful thing when this moment happened. "There was one thing."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Gary used to be a real dreamer, but about a week before he died he stopped dreaming. It kinda upset him a bit."

Dean glanced at Sam questioningly. "Thank you ma'am."

* * *

They passed through town and stopped at a diner. A man was set out up front taking pictures of people passing on the street. He smiled at them before snapping off a shot of the two of them. Sam blinked blindly as Dean stepped forward and tried to focus again.

"Hey douchebag, ask next time."

The man nodded apologetically and moved before Dean's admonishment became violence.

They arrived back at the hotel after six more house calls. Sariel was sitting on one of the beds reading a book. She'd put the candle away somewhere and cleaned up the chalk lines. Dean pulled his tie off wearily and threw it over the couch. "Hi honey, we're home."

She glanced up at them for a moment and then back down before her face went pale and shocked. Dean saw her hands clench before she looked back up at them. "Where are your souls?"

Dean paused, halfway in the act of unbuttoning his shirt, and behind him Sam stumbled forwards and knocked into his shoulder. When Dean's voice came out it was gravelly and astonished. "What?"

She stood and crossed the room, her fingers feeling his face carefully before turning to do the same to Sam. "Your souls. Where are they? What happened out there?"

Sam stepped back warily, and Dean grabbed her arm to turn her towards him. "Our souls are missing?" She nodded and Sam swallowed loudly behind her. "How can our souls be missing?"

She looked between them, and her expression was miserable. "I don't know. What happened out there?"

Dean spluttered for a moment, and then got control of himself. "Nothing. We questioned some people, and then got lunch."

She narrowed her eyes. "What did you eat?"

"What does that matter?" His tone is belligerent.

Sam stepped forward and parted them gracefully before leading Sariel over to the bed and sitting her back down. "Could something we ate do this?"

"I don't know. If I knew Heaven would know and we wouldn't be here. We have to get your souls back and soon." He watches as her hands clutch at each other.

Dean rubbed angrily at his mouth. "What happens if we don't?"

"You die. The soul is an important part of the body. It could look like an accident or natural causes, but eventually the meat gives up without the filling."

Dean shuddered at the imagery. Sam took over. "Dean had a cheeseburger and fries. I had chicken tenders."

She frowned and bit her lip. "Probably not that then. What else? Was there anything linking the dead people together?"

Sam's look became distant and troubled. "Well, they were all nice people. Family people. Uh, they all lived in houses they own, and they all seemed to have stopped dreaming before they died."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Side effect of soullessness. Anything else?"

"No. Nothing. But they all said the dream loss started 'bout a week ago. So we got a week to figure it out." He watched her turn her gaze on him. She was so pale she could have been a black and white picture if not for the color of her jeans.

"No. _You_do not have a week. Mortals have a week. Soldiers run off the energy of their souls. You have a few hours. Ten at most if all you do is sleep. Which is what you're going to do now."

"I'm not sleepy." It sounded so petulant and childish coming out of his mouth he wished instantly that he could take it back. She simply stared at him.

"Sari," Sam's voice is full of forced calm, "we need to find out what's doing this. We can't go to sleep."

She covered her face for a moment and took a deep breath. "There has to be something else. Something else that happened. Anything. A hard jolt, a bite, a flash of light-"

Dean's entire body jerked and beside him Sam's mouth dropped open. "That douchebag with the camera."

Sam grinned at him and then turned to Sariel. "There was a guy outside of the diner that had a camera. He took our picture. All of the dead people had family pictures done. Same style, and probably the same photographer. There's a ton of lore about cameras stealing-" Sariel's hand brushed Sam's temple and he fell silent as he slumped to the floor. She turned to look at Dean.

"Don't even think it. You're not going after this guy alone." His voice is a growl, and she lifts her chin in defiance of the implicit warning.

"How long ago did he take your picture Dean?"

He has to think, but he keeps a wary eye on her. "Three hours. Maybe four."

She nods once, and then she's up against him so fast he can't react, her cool fingers brushing his temple. Then there is darkness.

* * *

When he wakes up she's sitting across the room from them, teeth clenched as she digs with long tweezers in what looks like a bullet hole in her shoulder. She doesn't look up, but he can tell by the slight change in posture that she knows he's watching her. Her hand fumbles, and there's blood, and he slides out of the bed and takes the tweezers before she can do more damage. He digs the slug out efficiently, and then meets her eyes.

She can only hold his gaze for a moment before she drops it and looks away. "I'm sorry." She bites the words out and then reaches for the first aid kit.

His hand stops her, and she looks up again. "Don't ever do that again. You're worth just as much as I am." His voice is hard but his hold on her is tender. He understands better than anyone the driving need to keep what you love safe, and he's grateful that he and Sam are that important to her, but he'll be damned if she sacrifices herself for him.

She lets him sew the hole shut, and when Sam wakes her apology is less forced.

They're halfway home before Sam twists around to face her. She's been leaning back in the seat for miles, and while she's not sleeping it's obvious she doesn't want to talk. Dean's not surprised that Sam ignores this. "So what was he? A witch?"

Dean glances back and sees her jaw tighten. "He was an idiot with an antique camera."

Sam's voice is incredulous, "He didn't know what he was doing?"She grunts out a no and then slides further down in the backseat. Sam doesn't give up. "So what happened that he shot you?"

Sariel's voice is tight. "He didn't shoot me."

Now Dean can't resist joining the questioning. "Well if he didn't, who did?"

She cracked an eye open and peered at him in the mirror. "Mrs. Roosevelt." Dean has to flip through the last two days for the reference to mean something, and when it clicks into place he can't help the mix of incredulity and humor. It shouldn't be funny, because he knows that she can be killed, but damn if it isn't kind of amusing to imagine her facing off with an old lady. Beside him Sam is starting to grin. She cuts in before he can speak. "Not a word more. Not a single joke. I'm serious."

Dean can't keep the laughter out of his voice. "She was eighty-three. She could barely stand on her own. What'd you do to make her shoot you?"

He watches both of her eyes open and then narrow. "I said I was with the two nice insurance agents from earlier and I had a follow-up question. Turns out her insurance company told her they hadn't sent anyone, so you two were probably casing the joint. She fired before I could touch her to calm her."

Dean rubs at his mouth as Sam fights a grin and speaks. "She thought we were casing her house and you were a thief?"

She closes her eyes and her response steals the smile off of both Winchester's faces. "Yes. And I quote 'tell those two gays you work for I'm no pushover'."


	10. The Four Horsemen

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Ten: The Four Horsemen

"Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good, / Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good, / When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move." – Led Zeppelin "When the Levee Breaks"

Dean wakes to a scream, and his body is stumbling out of bed faster than his brain can move. He's heading down the stairs in a rush, and he realizes as he turns the corner and shoots for the kitchen that he's only wearing boxer-briefs and he isn't armed. They had a long night at the Rockyard watching Sariel sing with the band, and Dean is both hung over and annoyed. The last two weeks have been quiet. He wanted it to stay that way for a little while. He hears Sam's feet stuttering behind him, and then he's swinging the kitchen door wide open and staring at the sight in front of him. He's not sure if he should be alarmed or amused, so he goes with a combination and lets it happen.

Behind him Sam is beginning to sputter, in front of him Sariel is standing in flannel pajama pants and a tank top, and she's slowly lowering a kitchen knife. The girl in front of her is gorgeous, well-endowed, and wearing one of Sam's white undershirts. Dean can't help but roughly elbow his brother. The sunlight is making the shirt terrible cover, and the pretty redhead is outlined perfectly through it. "Good job Sammy!"

Sariel has put the knife down entirely and her hands are up, trying to calm the girl down and glare Dean to death all at the same time. "It's alright, it's alright. I didn't know you were here and I thought you were an intruder."

The girl's face is bright red, and her eyes roam from Sariel to Dean and over Sam before moving back to Sariel. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I didn't know Sam had roommates. I was looking for a cup."

Sariel backs towards Dean and Sam moves past them to hug the girl tightly. Dean is surprised to see that the angel's face is bright red. "Uh. Really it's ok. Just a big mistake. Dean and I were just getting dressed to leave for a few hours."

"I thought we'd have breakfast first." Sam's look could peel the paint off the walls, and Sariel's fingers twist in his underwear before she pulls him roughly from the room. Dean is laughing all the way upstairs.

They dress quickly, and they don't see Sam or the redhead as they leave the house and get in the Impala. Dean can't stop looking at her in the passenger seat. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted back so that her face absorbs the sunlight. A thought has begun to nag at him in the last few weeks, and Dean is trying to work through it. Ever since the night they came home and found her in the kitchen with Bobby it has been all Dean can think about.

"Where are we headed?"

She grins and rolls her window down a bit to soak in the air. "Anywhere that's not here."

Dean can't help himself. "You think Sammy is serious about that girl, or it's just a one night thing?"

Sariel opened one grey eye and peered at Dean. "I think it's none of our damn business. Sam's a grown man."

Dean laughs softly. "I can see that. Did you see the rack on that girl? Man I used to-"

The breath leaves him, and his fingers clench on the wheel. He forgets sometimes how fast Sariel is, and it's a weakness he needs to overcome because she has his pants undone and his cock in her mouth before he can finish the sentence. When she growls around him in warning he responds with a moan, and tries to keep the car on the road.

"Shut up and drive around Dean."

"Yes ma'am."

When they return in the early evening the girl has left, and Sam is waiting for them in the living room. He glares at Dean before turning to Sariel. "I'm sorry. I should have asked you before I came home with her, but you were busy trying to carry my idiot brother out, and I-"

Sariel's smile is broad as she pulls Sam into a hug. "It's ok Sam. It's your home too. Bring anyone you want."

Dean fights it, but he can't hold out, and when he speaks they both turn and look at him in horror. "But make sure they all look like that."

* * *

The missions have begun to roll in, and Dean and Sam find themselves traveling back and forth across the country to fight demons. Every now and then they pick up a hunt, but most of their time is consumed with the war against the forces the let out of Hell. Dean's often exhausted and bruised, and he goes to bed at night listening to Sam snore or shift in nightmares while the thought nags at him. When they return home after a particularly grueling battle with a group of demons in Arkansas he watches Sariel as she slices apples into a bowl.

"What are you making?"

She looked up from her work and raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Sam told me someone loved pie. I thought I'd make some."

Dean can feel his mouth watering, and that little thread of internal conversation forces his mouth to move. "I don't like the word girlfriend. Sounds like we're teenagers."

She drops the last slice in the bowl and sprinkles in cinnamon and sugar before mixing it with her hands. "Then don't call me your girlfriend."

* * *

"Lovers sounds like a dime store romance novel." She's holding the ladder while he paints the trim above the door. He feels her grip waver and then solidify. From across the porch Sam is watching him contemplatively.

"Then don't use the word lover. You're dripping on the porch Dean."

* * *

She's stitching up a cut Sam got from a demon in Minnesota. Her fingers are steady and careful as Sam watches her closing the wound on his bicep. Dean clears his throat.

"Partners sounds like what Sam and I are. Significant others takes too long to say."

Sam hisses in pain as the needle wavers and Sariel looks up. "Dean Winchester. Speak your peace or shut up about this."

"I think we should get married."

Sam's yelp is almost congratulatory.

* * *

The ceremony is small. Dean knows that this can't be legal, and neither one of them is interested in big, traditional, or religious. They have it under the willow tree in the backyard and Bobby officiates. Sam is his best man. When she walks down the grass towards him she is barefoot and wearing a simple white sundress. Dean looks at the calla lilies in her hands, at the overly serious expression on her face, and the way her toes grip the earth as she stands across from him. He doesn't regret his decision for a second. Afterwards the four of them eat steak and drink together. Bobby can't stop crowing about how wonderful it is that Dean's stopped acting like a cat in heat and Sam's smile is so broad it looks like his face will break. Dean watches them, his family, and feels a completeness he never entertained could be his.

The universe, or the Word, or whatever decides these things, gives them two weeks of peace. Two weeks of laughter, and love making, and anything they want to do. Dean finally sees the damn Grand Canyon, and he's impressed but his eyes keep straying to Sariel and Sam laughing and joking beside him.

When things go bad, as they always seem to do, Dean will hold onto these memories like a life raft. He will grip them tightly as he drowns.

Dean admits he can't help himself. He picks up a hunt as they head back from the Grand Canyon. Sariel is amused, but she keeps a distance from them as they work. The articles he'd found covered a variety of issues, and if they had been isolated events he wouldn't have given them a second glance, but together they paint a tantalizing picture. Sightings of aliens, werewolves, and of all things a unicorn, make the hunt too mouthwatering to pass up. Sariel insists on riding in the back of the Impala, and when they finally reach Harmony he watches a group of teenagers eye her legs as she swings out of the car. When they look to him he gives the same "yeah that's mine" grin he's given Sam a thousand times while escorting a hot girl out of the bar. Sam is laughing at him when he turns back to them.

The local diner is buzzing with information, and Sam and Dean have no trouble getting more than enough stories out of the waitress, the fry cook, and anyone else who can get some quality time in with the two big shot reporters.

Dean stutters when the local sheriff asks for Sariel's identity, and she slips in smoothly, "This was supposed to be our honeymoon." The sheriff gives her an understanding smile and she returns it easily.

They hike towards a clearing in the woods in the afternoon, and Sariel stands back snapping pictures as Sam and Dean investigate the perfectly round space cut out of the trees.

"Ok. This is weird." Sam is nodding as Dean continues to look around. "So we have a variety of stories, no deaths, and one freaky ass circle. Maybe the Trickster?"

Sam's frown is puzzled. "No, the Trickster always kills people man. It's his M.O., and so far all this stuff has been harmless. Mischievous but harmless. Maybe it's-"Sam's voice cuts off abruptly, and Dean hears Sariel swear. When he turns around there is a unicorn standing at the edge of the clearing watching them. must be the trickster. them.

The

"Is that…?" Dean can feel his eyebrows touching his hairline.

"Yeah man. Holy shit."

They both turn to Sariel, who's eyeing the creature warily from behind her sunglasses. Dean waits expectantly, and then finally gives in to his curiosity. "Well? What do you think?"

Her eyes never leave the mythological beast staring at them. "I think that is very strange."

Sam's face is the picture of astonishment. "Very strange? You're an archangel. You've been around since the beginning of Creation. Haven't you seen one of these before?"

The look Sariel gives him is pitying. "Sam. There's no such thing as unicorns." Dean points helplessly to the one in front of her and she shakes her head. "No. No such thing. Try again."

When they look back to the unicorn it is gone, and Dean shakes his head in exasperation.

* * *

They have been there three days, and Dean is getting a headache. In that time they've seen aliens, they've seen a very small version of the Loch Ness monster, and just for kicks they caught a flash of Santa Claus pelting children with water balloons from his sleigh. It all seemed so funny and exciting from a distance, but now that they're neck-deep in it Dean's just really fucking frustrated. Other than minor fender benders, a few people tripped into mud, and one scraped knee no one has been injured, and the sightings are becoming more frequent by the day. Sariel is kicked back in the booth of the diner watching them puzzle over it. The night before Sam was glued to his laptop, literally, and she shared Sam's accusatory look at Dean despite his protests. Now Sam is flipping through printouts and shooting Dean death glares. Dean finally turns to his wife.

"Babe, if you got any ideas this would be a great time to share them."

She sips at her coke for a moment before pointing to the menu on the wall. "I think you should order a milkshake."

Dean looks at her in astonishment, but Sam's eyes narrow and he raises his hand to get the waitress. She approaches slowly, as the group of them have tipped less with every day, and raises a silent eyebrow at Sam.

"I'd like a milkshake please." Sam's voice is dry, and his eyes never leave Sariel. Dean is following the looks between them like a tennis match, and he watches as a sly grin slides across her face.

The waitress frowns softly. "I'm sorry sir, but we've been having a problem with the fridge lately. The milk keeps curdling." Sam's hand slaps the table and the waitress jumps back in alarm. Dean watches his brother put on his best dimpled smile and turn to the waitress.

"Thank you, so much. I'm sorry about the noise. I just realized something. Thank you. Really. And sorry." The waitress nods and retreats quickly.

Dean has to rush to follow Sam, and he glances back to see Sariel leaving the waitress an incredibly generous tip. She has a small smile on her face. When they get to the car Sam spins to Dean.

"We were close, but not there. It's a Pooka. A mischievous spirit that gets its kicks from messing with people unless they share their crops. I gotta research its weaknesses, but the milk was a dead giveaway."

Dean nods slowly and lets the sarcasm in his voice show his confusion. "Yeah. I totally got that. So it's not dangerous?"

"Well, no, not really man. Not normally. But it can be."

Sam spends an hour on the internet, and Dean notices that his brother is very careful about what surfaces he touches. When Sam finishes he snaps the lid closed and looks up at the two of them with blazing eyes. "It's the unicorn. One of us has to ride it."

Dean bites his cheek and looks away. "Well look at that Sammy, it's your girlhood dream come true."

The punch in the shoulder is completely worth it.

* * *

They are standing at the edge of the clearing, and they both have rope mixed with Pooka hair in their hands. Hair they spent the majority of the damn day trying to find. Dean's eyes scan the circle as they wait for the beast to poke its head out. "So all we gotta do is ride it for a while and then make it promise to leave people alone?"

"That's what the lore says." Sam is shifting carefully, and the rope is swinging softly in his hands. Sariel sits off to the side of the two of them and stares at the stars through the trees. When she speaks her voice is soft.

"It's a beautiful night guys. Have you looked at how pretty the sky is?"

Sam raises a questioning eyebrow at Dean, and he responds with a shrug. She waits a moment and then speaks again just as softly. "Seriously boys. Look up."

Dean glances upwards just in time to see the unicorn running down one of the huge trees and right at them.

He misses his shot, but Sam catches the unicorn dead on, and then Sam is riding it. Dean watches as they shrink into the distance, and then turns to Sariel. "How long does he ride it for?"

She frowns thoughtfully and stares after where Sam has disappeared. "Maybe we should get the car."

It takes them four hours to find Sam, and when they do he's limping awkwardly down the highway. Dean pulls up beside him and whistles. "Hot date tonight Sammy?"

He wakes the next morning with his hands glued to the headboard. He thinks Sariel might help him, if she can get off the floor and stop laughing.

* * *

Michael is waiting for them one morning, and Dean looks at him for a moment before walking past and into the kitchen for coffee. When he comes back out Sam is standing in the hallway staring at Michael blearily. Dean handed his little brother a cup of coffee before the two of them sat down across from the tall archangel.

"It's early. Can't you come at a decent hour?" His voice is too sleep-graveled, and he has to wipe at his bleary eyes while Michael studies them both looking entirely too damn awake and aware.

"This is important. Where is Sariel?"

Dean's brain flashed to the night before, and he thought of her moaning loudly as he entered her from behind and gripped her hips. He shook himself and found Sam looking at him in shock and Michael's eyebrows raised. "She's sleeping. Very tired."

"I'm awake." She padded in barefoot and in shorts before sitting beside Dean and stealing a sip of his coffee. "What's happening?"

Michael's eyes took in Sariel's bare legs, her tousled hair, and then the ring on her left hand. Dean saw him follow it to his own hand, and then he looked up at her face. "Do you know a demon named Ruby?"

Dean's blood ran cold, and beside him Sam tensed warily. Sariel glanced at them before turning back to Michael. "I have heard of her." Her voice is dry. "Why do you ask?"

"We have reports that she's organizing a group of like-minded demons for some sort of movement. We were aware that she was angling for Sam to join them, but as he has been cleaned of Azazel's blood we thought she would give up on that pursuit. We need to know what the new plan is."

Dean can't help but look to Sam, and he sees that his little brother's hands are clenched tightly in his lap. He knows better than to say I told you so, so he waits for Sam to speak. Sam's voice is a mixture of anger, confusion, and misery. "But she helped us. She's different. She said she remembers being human."

Michael gives him a look that speaks volumes, and Dean doesn't care for it. So his brother is a bit of sap for a sad story and the promise of redemption. That's what makes Sam special. He feels Sariel lay a restraining hand on his forearm. She turns to his brother, "That's impossible Sam. What happens in Hell? There's no way to protect your humanity there."

Michael cuts in while Sam's face cycles through expressions. "Yes. She was planning on using you for the same purpose as Azazel. Just a different approach. From everything we can put together she was waiting until after Dean went to Hell, but that didn't work out for her. As far as we can tell she stayed away afterwards because if Sariel had met her…" His voice trails off and he gives Sariel a meaningful look. Her lips twitch once and then straighten out as she takes in Sam's expression.

Dean vividly recalls how insistent the bitch was that talking to Sariel wouldn't work, and that Dean would have to continue hardening Sammy before his imminent departure. He can feel his fists clench, but he keeps looking at Sam. His brother looks both angry and slightly lost. "How do you know all this?"

Dean easily catches Michael's hesitation, but the angel looks completely honest as he responds. "We have informants. Unfortunately none of them are in Cainesville, Utah, which is where you boys will be going."

Sam leans forward, and Dean sees the exact moment his brother turns his rage into focus. He's pretty fucking proud of Sam in that moment. "What are we doing there?"

"You will spy on Ruby and her group. It's important you are not spotted, as her numbers are too large for you to handle alone."

Dean glances at Sariel. "This one of those times we're gonna have backup boss?"

Her mouth opened, but Michael cut in. "No. Sariel has her own mission. If she entered the Cainesville area she would be sensed immediately, and then it would turn into a battle."

Sam's face is puzzled, but Dean gets Michael's attention first. "We're not exactly sneaky guys man. We're more smash and grab than cat burglars if you get my drift. Plus Ruby knows our faces."

Michael tilted his head quizzically, and Dean could see him puzzling through the phrases before he finally nodded. "We'll be taking care of that. The two of you should prepare to leave by the end of the day. "

Sam's eyes finally rise from studying his hands. "What will Sariel be doing?"

Dean glanced at her, but she was only looking at Michael. He cleared his throat. "She's retrieving a lost weapon for us. Something we can't get to."

Sam struggles with his curiosity, but Dean files it away for later. He'll ask her once Michael is gone. The archangel stands carefully and studies the three of them. "Congratulations on your nuptials." He leaves out the front without another word. Dean lets the closing of the door be the sign it's time to question her, but she's already standing and heading for the kitchen.

"Come on guys. I'm getting at least one more decent meal in you before you revert to grease and fat."

* * *

Dean watches as she sits in front of Sam. They're both cross-legged on the floor in the basement, and her eyes are very grave. "The point Sam is that I know what you can still do. So let's use it for this mission without pretending it doesn't exist."

Dean would like it if they'd talk in full sentences that made sense, but he's resigned himself to trying to piece together their shattered conversation as it comes. He can't help but notice Sam looks ashamed. "I wasn't hiding it Sari it just…it didn't need to be mentioned."

Her frown is stern. "It did, but you didn't, so shut up and concentrate. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath, and when you reopen them look from the center instead of the sides."

Dean's starting to get really annoyed. His little brother closes his eyes, and then when he reopens them Dean watches as a look he's never seen before crosses Sam's face. His brother pushes himself violently backwards and away from her. Sam's mouth hangs open uselessly and he releases small gasps and points at Sariel.

"You…you…your face is…"

She nods quietly and looks to Dean. Sam's gaze follows hers and Dean sees that his little brother relaxes when he sees him. Sam blinks, and when he looks back to Sariel he seems to have control of himself.

"Do that when you get to Cainesville. Keep your eyes open from the center Sam, and you'll always see the truth."

When she stands her legs seem shaky from the length of her half-lotus position, but she waves away Dean's offer of help. He waits till she's gone upstairs before turning to Sam. Dean may not be the book smart genius his little brother is but he's pretty damn quick on the uptake. "Your psychic stuff never left."

Sam looks ashamed. "No. Not really. When that demon had the gun pointed at her? She told me in my head that he was possessed. It's been little stuff like that even after we became Soldiers."

"You should have told me Sam." His voice is gruffer than he expected it to be, but Sam is already shaking his head and adopting that mulish expression Dean knows so well.

"You wouldn't have understood Dean. Hell I didn't really understand."

Dean chooses not to discuss it. This sounds too much like an opening for Sam to talk feelings, and all of Dean's are hot and raw at the moment. It will do them no good to fight before they head into enemy territory.

"What was she showing you?"

Sam began to ascend the stairs slowly. "How to see demons when they're walking in human skins."

Dean's mind clicks Sam's reaction into place in the context of this admission. "What does she look like?"

Sam's voice is soft and humble. "It was like looking into a star."

Dean isn't surprised.

* * *

__

Cainesville, Utah

Whatever Sariel did to their faces before they left has him itching. It doesn't help that the Camry's acceleration is for shit, and that he's driving the damn thing at all. He's complained, but Sam is unsympathetic to it. When they finally reach Utah Dean can feel his skin crawling. Sariel insisted that he and Sam would look different to demons, but when he looks in the mirror all he sees is himself. Same hazel eyes, same strong jaw, same Dean. He just has to take her word for it.

Cainesville is small, and Dean and Sam should be in their element here. They follow instructions and take a job at the local lumber yard. They make friends. They are well-liked and the whole time Sam's face becomes more of a mockery of itself. A frozen and charming mask that Dean hates to look at. It doesn't take long before they start hearing things, and every time they turn around Sam is giving Dean the little hand signal that suggests the nice old lady at the corner, or the little girl skipping rope, or the pretty waitress with the low-cut shirt is really a demon in disguise. Dean hasn't been this tense in his whole life and he sleeps poorly while they collect information.

Their yard boss is one of the sons of bitches, and three weeks into their stay in Cainesville Sam overhears him talking about their convert and how his help will be instrumental in bringing Lucifer to Earth. Sam tells Dean the information breathlessly as he rubs at his temple and Dean can't help but worry about the perpetual headache Sam has. Still, concerns aside, this is an in they haven't had before. They sit in their rented shack, drinking beer and discussing it.

"So he said this convert has a horn?"

Sam nodded and kept rubbing at his temple. "He said the horn was the key."

Dean can't help his frown. "The key? What, they gonna play a little jazz and that'll wake the Devil up?"

"I don't know Dean. I'd have to look into it and we don't exactly have resources here. She we don't even have internet. Personally? I think we should leave right now. The angels have to know more about this horn than we can ever figure out."

"Man that might not work. It's not a lot of information for three weeks worth of living in this hellhole. I mean come on Sam, a convert and a horn? Those aren't real answers they're Jeopardy clues!"

Sam looks up from the floor, and Dean sees for the first time the full toll that this is taking on his little brother. Sam's skin is pale, his eyes are shadowed and red, his mask has fully slipped off and there's desperation and fear there. It's been a long time since Sam looked up at Dean and begged him with his eyes to be his hero. "Dean. I can't take much more of this. You don't know what it's like to look at them and _see_them."

Dean swallows the last of his beer and stands. He hasn't seen Sam look this bad since Jess died, and he'll be damned if he's going to sacrifice his brother for job security. There's no question that Dean Winchester is a hard man. Some might look at the domesticity of his arrangement with Sariel and think that he's softened, and that might be true. Hell it was certainly true. That didn't change the fact that since the age of four there is one subject Dean has never softened on. Protect Sam. Always, before anything else, protect Sam. "Ok Sammy. Pack up."

* * *

They're on the road less than hour later, and Dean is tapping the wheel lightly as Golden Earring comes on. "Hey Sam, 'Radar Love'! This is a good one."

Sam gives him the ghost of a smile, and then he sees his brother's mouth open wide before his eyes snap back to the road. There's a man there and Dean swerves the wheel with only a second to spare. The sedan skids to a stop right in front of a tree. Dean has to remind himself to breathe. He barely hears Sam quietly say his name over the sound of the music.

"I know Sammy. Shit. Where did that guy-"

"Dean."

"Yeah, ok, I get it. Close call, but-"

"**Dean**." That is when Dean looks into the rearview mirror. The face coming towards them is familiar, and it takes him a moment to process it. When he does all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Sam. Get out of the car Sam." But there's no time for Sam to listen to him, because Gabriel is grabbing the back bumper and flipping the car with an effortless grace Dean can't appreciate as the world turns upside down. When they slam on to the roof of the car Dean feels the impact against his seatbelt like a punch to his lungs. He fights to breathe through the fire in his chest. Glass explodes around them, and he hears something in his shoulder pop sickeningly. Then he's hanging upside down beside Sam, and he knows without checking that the comforting weight of his weapon is gone from his jacket pocket. Somehow the radio stays on, and Dean can study the road through the one headlight that is still working. Gabriel's smile is just as broad and insane as it was the day he came to their home, and Dean reaches around with the arm he can move searching for the seatbelt buckle. When he finds it and pops the button the impact of his head with the roof turned floor is jarring, and his vision wavers at the pain in his shoulder.

He can hear Sam scrabbling for the sawed-off, and Dean is almost disappointed that when he finally gets to use this quote it may be his last one. "Faster Sam, faster would be better."

Gabriel's sword appears out of thin air, his wings spread, and he lifts it high as he continues to bear down on them. Dean feels the cold wood grip of the sawed-off brush his hand, and when he turns Sam is fighting for consciousness as he pushes his gun at his older brother. Dean scrabbles to pull himself out of the window, and gets halfway out before he has to use his only functioning arm to pull the gun out. He sees the glint of metal lowering on him, and then there is a sound that splits the night and shakes the ground underneath him. When Dean's eyes focus forward he's looking at low-topped sneakers, jean-clad legs with a deep gash in one thigh, and then black feathered wings and long blue-black hair. It's probably relief he feels, but Dean isn't a damsel in distress. He uses his good arm to pull himself the rest of the way out of the vehicle, and then leans against it to aim the gun.

Sariel's arms are lifted high, and she has caught Gabriel's sword in between her two smaller blades. Dean can only see the left side of her face, and in the moonlight her eye is a darker silver than he's ever witnessed before bisected by the shadowed line of her scar. Her voice, when it rolls across him, is so furious and destructive that he's almost afraid of her. "Gabriel. Stand down."

Gabriel's smile widens impossibly, and he shifts his balance before pulling back his sword and swinging again. She catches it at the last second and throws him backwards with her return show of force. When he finally speaks the archangel's voice makes Dean want to claw his eyes out. "Dirty, tainted, broken Sariel wishes to save the world? Save the mortals? _Have you even told him what you did_?"

She attacks. It's unlike her, and Dean feels unease at it. She's vicious, and he can't keep up with the speed of her movements. Her recklessness gives her two deep cuts on Gabriel, but earns her a gash in her side. Gabriel waves one hand and she is sent flying across the road and into a tree. He fumbles with the shotgun as Gabriel turns back to him, and then she's descending through the air at full speed and slamming into the larger archangel's back. They twist and tumble into the road, and she's up and canted wildly before he can push himself from the asphalt. Dean can see her stagger through the dim light. There's something very wrong here. Barry Hay wails about a dead radar lover behind him as Gabriel lifts from the ground. She doesn't have to tell him what she's doing as she stumbles backwards and leads the mad archangel in a tight circle. Shotguns aren't the best for precision, but if he has the bastard in close range it won't matter much.

When she's led him so that his back is to Dean and his sword is lifting Dean doesn't hesitate. Can't hesitate. He pulls the shotgun up and points taking Gabriel in the back. When the archangel turns around and gives him a look of surprise Dean pulls the trigger again, and sends the other barrel into him. Gabriel falls without a sound and the air around them ripples with energy. He can't think about that though. His brother is badly injured in the car, Sariel is holding her side and stumbling towards Gabriel's body, and there's a sound coming from the town behind him that lets him know they have been discovered.

"Sariel." Her gaze cuts through him, and he's honestly frightened when he sees a measure of Gabriel's madness in it. "Sariel. We have to go."Whatever she's been through in these last three weeks it hasn't been pleasant. Added to the gash in her thigh and the wounds she's just received the right side of her face is practically destroyed. What Dean has heard her call her 'good eye' is now a mass of pulp and raw flesh. She leaves Gabriel's body behind and stumbles over to him before leaning against him and the car.

* * *

With no clear understanding of how they have done it, Dean finds that they are in the driveway of their home. Sam is moaning in pain from the car, and Dean pushes himself up shakily and then limps around to the other side to fight with the door of the Toyota. A large hand brushes past him and rips the door off of its hinges, and Dean looks back to see Michael staring grimly into the car. The archangel lifts Sam out of the car effortlessly, and Dean follows him inside as another figure helps Sariel up. Dean can't help but notice that whoever she is she touches Sariel with distaste. It makes him angry, but then the whole thing makes him angry. How the fuck did they miss an archangel working with demons? They barely get inside the door before Michael is lowering Sam to the couch and spinning on Sariel.

"Is Gabriel dead?"

Dean moves to her side, and takes her from the angel before helping her into the armchair. In the living room light he can see that her wound isn't as bad as he thought but her face looks much worse. There's a concavity to her eye socket under the swelling that suggests serious damage to the eyeball itself. She keeps her open eye down as her hand presses against her side. "Yes."

Michael's eyes are dark blue. "How?"

The female angel has been hovering over Sam, and now she turns to Dean, but he doesn't want her touching him. He can feel the snarl on his face as she eyes him warily and then stands behind Michael. His rage is only fueled when Sariel pushes herself shakily out of the chair and faces Michael head on.

"Dean shot him. We have to discuss what you have done."

Michael's eyes move quickly towards Dean and then back to her face. "What I've done? What has your soldier done? He's killed an archangel. One of the first."

"He did what he had to do. You on the other hand-"She's advancing on Michael with an almost drunken gait and Dean takes a half step towards her.

"Your weaknesses are well known Sariel, but that doesn't excuse him from-"

Dean's anger is a palpable thing, and so it's a shock when the sound of the slap drains it from him. Michael stands with his mouth slightly open, his head turned to the side, and a handprint already rising on his skin. The female angel behind him is staring openly, and beyond them Sam has sat up on the couch and is trying to catch Dean's gaze. Trying to communicate with him, but whatever powers his little brother has he can't seem to get the message across.

"You cut them off from me. **They were alone**. If Sam hadn't have reached out I would never have known they were in trouble, and Gabriel would have murdered them. He Fell and you missed it! Did you think the only way to Fall was to be in the Pit? **You arrogant bastard**!"Her hand, in comparison to Michael's sheer size, looks like a child's when it pushes out, but the force of it sends him stumbling back into the wall. He doesn't look as righteous as he did a moment before, and Dean feels a vicious triumph in it. When she speaks again her voice is a ragged cry. "I could have lost them!"

Dean feels that tight clench in his chest at the fury and grief in her voice, and his brain is putting together puzzle pieces as quickly as it can while he watches Michael's face fill with shame.

"We thought it best you not be distracted."

Sariel stumbles backwards, and Dean uses his good arm to catch her. All the fight has left her body, and when she pressed her face into the side of his neck he can feel the heat coming off of the damaged flesh, and the wetness of her tears. Sam speaks quietly from across the room. "We got the information you wanted. They were saying they had a convert, and I'm guessing that was Gabriel. They also said they have a Horn."

The gasp the female angel gives has Dean glancing her way, before he turns his eyes back to Michael. The big archangel looks pale. In the circle of Dean's good arm Sariel has gone stiff.

"Did you find the horn on the body Sariel?" Her head shakes against Dean's neck.

"Then we are in a good deal of trouble."


	11. Living on a Prayer

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Eleven: Living on a Prayer

"Can it be that there's some sort of error./ Hard to stop the surmounting terror./ Is it really the end, not some crazy dream./ Somebody please tell me that I'm dreaming,/ It's not so easy to stop from screaming," – Iron Maiden "Hallowed be Thy Name"

They break for the night. It's not easy, and Dean doesn't like it, but Sam's eyes are barely staying open and Sariel looks like she's just risen from the grave. The nameless female angel leaves with Michael. Dean has to get Sam to help him pop his shoulder back into place so he can help Sariel up the stairs. They limp together, and she leads them to the bathroom. The shower is platonic. He runs his hands over a myriad of bruises and scrapes before he can even bring himself to look at the wound on her side. Her scarred eye takes in every one of his own marks, and she winces slightly when she touches the swollen flesh of his shoulder. They patch each other up and then limp to bed.

When they've slid beneath the sheets Dean pulls her against him and feels how tense and frightened she is. He doesn't know what to say, and his mind goes in a hundred different directions. He still doesn't know what she was after or if she got it. The horn is something important, but he doesn't know why or what they'll do about it. There's something Sariel's not telling him about her past, something that both Michael and Gabriel have mentioned tonight, but whatever it is she seems to lose her mind at the mention of it. Above it all hangs the realization that Dean has killed an archangel tonight, and he's not sure what the penalty for that is. His fingers trace the scars on her back, and her fingers dance and skip over his bruised shoulder. He can feel that numbness again, and after her display of power getting them home he wonders what even this small amount of comfort is costing her. He wants to stop her, but it means opening his mouth, and if he does that he'll start talking.

Finally he can't take it anymore. He's not Sam, and he knows sometimes silence is best, but there's too much here and he can't hold it all in. "What-"

Her fingers move with speed and cover his mouth, and then her lips take their place. He can taste tears he didn't know were being spilled, and her mouth is so forceful and desperate that the taste of blood joins them seconds later. When she pulls back her voice is harsh. "One night Dean. Just let it be for one night."

It hurts him, and it's hard, but he gives her that much.

* * *

When he wakes the next morning she's gone. There's blood on the sheets, and he's sure it's both of theirs. He pushes stiffly out of bed and rolls his shoulder to find it only has the slightest of aches left in it. He's not even fifty percent, but he can feel the old fight returning. When he reaches the dining room she's already there, and he can see that the damage to her face is almost unchanged, and she's sitting carefully. Michael is at the head of the table and Sariel is across from him at the foot. Sam's large form is slumped into a chair on her right. Dean drops a kiss on the crown of her head before taking the place at her left.

Michael waits until he's settled before he leans in. "I owe both of you an apology. I put you in danger by holding Sariel back from you. My judgment was clouded."

Dean is just surprised enough to not make a sarcastic comment. Instead he glances at Sariel.

Somehow Michael's face becomes even grimmer. "The horn you learned about was Gabriel's special gift from the Word. He was to blow it to announce Judgment Day. Now that it is in the hands of Ruby's army they will be able to usher in the apocalypse."

Of course it was, because if it had been something simple the Winchesters wouldn't be involved. Dean rubbed his mouth tiredly. "Well don't sugarcoat it. What are our chances?"

Michael looked towards the ceiling. "Slim to none I believe is the phrase. We have a month at most before they figure out how to blow the horn without Gabriel. When they do that Lucifer will be released from Hell and bring it with him to Earth. Once he's here it would take an army of archangels to kill him, his army, and restore order. We don't have those numbers anymore."

Dean's head turned at the surge of power, and then the front door opened and closed. A group of five men and women entered the room and took positions around the table. Dean leaned closer to Sariel, and watched them warily. When they'd all taken a seat the red haired woman closest to Michael spoke first.

"Is this the Soldier that slew Gabriel?"

He felt Sariel's hand on his, and he looked down to see her bruised fingers stroking his hand. She spoke quietly. "Yes."

The red-haired woman peered at him, and then turned to Sariel. "It has been too long Sariel."

His wife's smile was tight. "Yes Raguel. Too long. What is our plan?"

Sam beat Dean to the punch. "Excuse me. What's going on here? Who are all of you?"

The grim-looking black man on Michael's left frowned at Sam. "We are the council of the first archangels. What's left of them. We're here to discuss our plan of attack. We'd do it in Heaven, but Sariel cannot cross its borders."

"Uriel…" Michael's tone was a warning.

Dean leaned forward, and his voice was vicious and sharp. "And why the hell not? Hasn't she more than made up for anything you can blame her for?"

Sariel's hand squeezed his just shy of painful, and the archangels shared a long look. Raguel spoke lightly. "It's not our decision Dean. Sariel closed that door long ago. What matters is that we are here and we need to decide what we'll do."

Dean glanced at Sariel, but she refused to meet his eyes. Her voice was steady, even if her fingers shook around his. "Can the horn be retrieved?"

Michael shook his head and Uriel spoke again. "They've taken it to Hell. We can't follow it there."

Dean stood angrily and Sam followed his lead. "Well who can? We can't just let them blow the damn thing. We're talking about the end of times here!"

The dark-haired female angel next to Uriel spoke calmly. "It may be best if we allowed it to happen. When the war begins the Word will surely become involved. If that-"

Sariel's hand slammed against the table, and the sound was followed by silence. She raised her face and Dean watched her level a look of pure fury at the archangels before her. "The Word will not get involved. You know as well as I do this was never supposed to happen. The whole idea of the war was mortal invention and the Word won't go against it. We have to do this ourselves. We have to help the humans."

Uriel stood angrily and his chair clattered backwards against the wall. "Help the humans? To borrow their own vulgarities fuck the humans. They started this mess. What do you know anyway? The Word hasn't spoken to you in centuries. Not since you defiled-"

Dean pulled his gun, and on the other side of Sariel Sam had his sawed-off up before the archangel could blink. He wasn't sure what they were talking about, and he'd be damned if he wasn't interested, but he wouldn't let the mouthy bastard insult her anymore. He knew from experience these guns could kill archangels. The tension in the room was a living thing, and then the older gentleman in the center of the table cleared his throat.

"Would you two put those down? Uriel seat yourself and apologize. You know as well as the rest of us that the humans are important. The three of you are acting like children."

Dean fought with a bright and intense wave of shame. There was something about that grandfatherly face and gentle voice that made him feel like a scolded child, and it pissed him off even as his head lowered reflexively. He sat stiffly beside Sariel and she reached out for his hand again. He saw that she was holding Sam's hand on the other side, and together the three of them were a united Winchester front. It made his back straighten. He eyed Uriel angrily. Uriel didn't apologize, but he did pick his seat up and retake it.

The older archangel eyed the group of them before turning his attention fully on Uriel. "She's right. The Word will not stop the war. It has given the mortals full sway. If we wish to stop the end we have to do it ourselves. So let's focus on what we can do. Sariel did you retrieve the weapon?"

Her eye was cold as she considered him. "I did. Are you sure we should use it Yves? Once it's been set off there is no going back."

Yves nodded. "I think our best plan is the most dangerous one. You're the only one of us who can cross into Hell, and your Soldiers look like they can handle themselves fairly well. If you agree, we'll guard their bodies while you're inside. Set off the weapon and it will destroy Lucifer once and for all. It's the last thing they'll be expecting, and the element of surprise will pay off well for us."

Dean's head was whipping back and forth between Yves and Sariel, but it was Sam who spoke. "You want us to go in to Hell? Can we do that?"

Yves eyed Sam carefully. "Yes. We can remove your souls from your bodies so you can enter Hell and fight. Because of her unique condition Sariel can enter freely. You may want to recruit one more able warrior, but this close to the event it would be difficult I am sure. You'll need a week to recover from your wounds and then we'll return."

Sariel's head was shaking. "Where is Gabriel's solider?"

The council shared another long look before Michael spoke. "We have detained him. He claims to have no knowledge of Gabriel's plan."

Sariel leaned forwards. "If I have to take a mortal it will be him. There's no way he was unaware of Gabriel's movements, and at this point I'd say he's expendable. The two of us will go alone."

Yves opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut in first. He couldn't control his fury. "You're not going to Hell with a traitor, and you're sure as Hell not going without me to cover your back."

"Or me." Sam's face was grim.

She looked at them both silently, and then stood and nodded to the archangels. "We'll see you in a week."

* * *

She'd been standing over the kitchen sink for fifteen minutes. Dean didn't know if he should say anything, and he kept sharing looks with Sam. Finally she broke the silence herself.

"Bobby."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but Dean knew what she meant immediately. "We can ask him. He'd love a chance to kick some demon ass."

She nodded tightly. "Call him. I'll answer your questions once he's here."

Sam called Bobby, and their old friend was there before the end of the day. They sat in the living room, and Sariel forced Dean to let go of her hand as she took the armchair and faced them. "Bobby. It's a dangerous proposition. You might die. You'll probably die. You're not a soldier. This is pretty far beyond even the most experienced soldier's abilities and the Winchesters have barely started. We'll probably all die."

Dean can feel Bobby's tension, but when he speaks his voice is soft and sarcastic. "Well geez, sell it a bit harder will ya?"

She squinted at him through her open eye. "I've been trying to discourage Dean and Sam since it was suggested. Now I am trying to discourage you. I'm assuming you'll be as compliant as they have been?"

Bobby's grin was lopsided. "Well I ain't gonna say the prospect doesn't scare me, but I've never been very good about letting Winchesters march into danger alone."

Her eye surveyed Sam and Dean. "They are hard to abandon."

Bobby's gaze was soft as he looked at her wounded face. "I meant you too girl. Now what's the reason we're going in alone?"

Her fingers tightened on themselves. "When humanity began to turn on itself the Word realized that language presented a unique problem. Are you familiar with binary opposites?"

Sam's head was nodding even as Dean's began to shake. Sam huffed affectionately. "It's the concept that every word has to have an opposite that defines it and gives it meaning. So, good and evil, or black and white. Without one the other is meaningless."

Sariel nodded, and there was the ghost of a smile on her face as she looked at Sam. "Mortals needed language, so they made it. The Word had given them dominion over the earth and promised to uphold in Heaven what they decided. So when man defined good and evil we were stuck in a quandary. Man knew the _idea_of good and evil, but without palpable evil what did good mean? They began to attack one another. Kill each other. They were destroying Creation. So the Word commissioned me to gather a group of angels. One would be an archangel like myself, and he would lead the others to create the Pit and take the role of evil. It was all supposed to be an example. A lesson. I was supposed to follow them, and watch to make sure that the Word's will was being obeyed."

Here her voice cracked and she looked away. When she looked back her eye was shining, and Dean wanted to go to her, but he held himself perfectly still."So we went, and it didn't take long before we saw what man was capable of. I chose Lucifer to lead them and he Fell first. He couldn't accept that we were being controlled by… "Dean watched as she kneaded the back of neck and then studied her fingers. "He went mad. The others either Fell or destroyed themselves. It was all happening so quickly I couldn't figure out how to stop it. "

Sam let his hands dangle between his thighs as he leaned in. "Did you know that could happen?"

Her lips tightened and she rubbed her scar tiredly. "No. We went in blind. I must have…I didn't know and I led them into danger."

Bobby grunted. "Well God sure didn't warn ya so I'd say that one's on him. So the Fall started the war?"

She hesitated for a moment, and Dean braced himself for bad news. "No, man did. They wrote the story of the war, and because of the Word's decree we were bound to follow it. We're unable to fight it alone. Man made the war, and now the Word will leave them to see what their creation has done."

Dean leaned in angrily. "So 'cause we took the bait and wrote a story we're being left to die?"

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving you."

He was ashamed of himself instantly and the sharp looks coming from Bobby and Sam didn't help. Sam cleared his throat. "So what's this weapon?"

She reached into a bag at her feet and dug around before pulling out a small orb. She placed it in front of them on the coffee table, and Bobby's breath caught in his throat. Dean bit his lip viciously, but he felt the joke struggling to go free.

Sam reached for it and then pulled his hand back. "How does it work?"

"We take it into the center of the Pit, to Lucifer's throne, and then set it down. We need to be outside of Hell's borders before it does. It has to be placed by a mortal. In this case that would be you two. Sam can charge it so it will go off."

Dean swallowed hard and rubbed at his mouth. Bobby's voice was still a little breathless. "And it'll work? Wipe out all the demons from Hell?"

She nodded as she watched the colors shift under its surface. "It will destroy anything that is in Hell when it goes off, and all of Lucifer's creation in the process. Hell itself will crumble."

Dean's will broke, and he looked down and tried to hold back the grin he felt surfacing. "So who carries the Holy Hand Grenade?"

It was worth Bobby cuffing him in the back of the head. Worth Sam glaring. Sariel laughed.

* * *

They spend the first three days of what was probably their last week alive on the couch. The list of movies seemed endless, and Bobby and Sam abandoned them constantly as they simply rested to a myriad of plots and genres. It was almost perfect. The only difficult part coming at the beginning of _Equilibrium_, a movie Dean had adored since the first time he caught playing late at night in a motel room in Missouri. As the hero stands in front of his doomed partner Sariel leans forward slightly on the couch, and Dean can feel the tension in her body ratchet upwards. _"No. You've been with me, you've seen how it can be - the jealousy, rage."_ Dean puts one hesitant hand on her tense shoulder and feels the ragged breath she draws in. _"A heavy cost. I pay it gladly. "_He can feel Sariel's crying, but he doesn't see it and he doesn't ask about it.

By the fourth day they were almost fully healed and the restlessness set in. The four of them rode to Lawrence and stopped in the graveyard. Dean watched as Sam knelt in front of their mother's headstone and their father's dully gleaming dog tags. When Sam came back his eyes were wet and his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Dean gestured Bobby forward, and Bobby removed his hat to talk to his old friend. When he was done Dean took Sariel's arm and marched her forwards.

"Dad, Mom, this is my wife. We're very happy. We're gonna kill the Devil."

Sariel gave him a strange look, and then turned back to the marker. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Dean knelt in front of the grave and he felt her pulling away. When he was alone he spoke lowly. "Dad, I'm still taking care of Sammy. I'll do everything I can to get him outta there in one piece. If you're still in Hell, I hope you get out before we blow it up."

When he stood his legs felt shaky, and it was Sam who grabbed him into a tight hug. He suffered it for a moment before patting Sam on the back. "Ok now, that's enough Sammy. Everybody's watching."

On their last night Sariel led Dean upstairs. They bathed together, and their time in the water was taken up by a slow exploration of each other's bodies. Dean hasn't missed how important this aspect of their relationship is. Bathing each other is a ritual they have held since their first time together, and he knows why it pleases him, but he's not sure about her.

They moved to the bedroom, and Dean took his time tasting and worshipping every inch of her skin. She returned the favor, and when she mounted him he held her hips and stared into her eyes. The pace moved from gentle to desperate, and Dean slid backwards to sit propped against the headboard as he thrust up into her. She gripped his shoulders tightly, and her voice was low and even as she begged him for more, as his name crossed her lips like a curse and a benediction. As he watched her move over him something, some dam deep inside of him broke, and he began to talk. He couldn't shut up about how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how he'd like an eternity of this moment. He figured that if he was going to die, it couldn't hurt to be unguarded for this. They reached their climax together, and she shook in his arms as they breathed into each other's mouths.

Afterwards they lay beside one another with their fingers intertwined. When she spoke it was in a low and gentle tone. "Do you want to know why I can't cross into Heaven Dean?"

He shook his head, and then realized she couldn't see the movement. "Tell me afterwards."

She gripped his hand tighter and they fell asleep.

* * *

They had breakfast in silence, and Dean made sure to eat everything in front of him. If it was his last meal here he wanted to enjoy every bite. He went so far as to steal a piece of bacon off Sariel's plate, and she managed a small admonishing smile.

When they were done he felt that pull, and then Sariel left the kitchen. When she came back she led everyone into the living room. They pushed all of the furniture out of the way. She placed three pillows on the floor and then gestured silently. The archangels stood in a circle as Sam and Bobby both gave Sariel a hug. She shared one of those long looks with Sam, the ones that let Dean know they were talking in their special way. Dean was the last to lie down and he held her eyes before he did. His fingers stroked her scar gently. He cupped her face and kissed her. When he pulled back he saw that her expression was calm, and her eyes were lit from behind with desire. "Laugh for me one more time." His voice was a low rumble, and when she complied he filed the picture away in his memory. She held his hand all the way to the floor.

When he was settled the archangels stepped forward, and Sariel slipped through their ranks and out of the front door. Dean eyed the group warily. "So how does this work? We fall asleep or something?"

Yves smiled. "It's already happened Dean. Turn around."

And sure enough Dean was standing suddenly, and when he looked behind him his body was sleeping peacefully on the floor beside Bobby and Sam. He felt in his jacket for his gun and found it. It gleamed softly in his hand, and he weighed it carefully before putting it back. Across from him Bobby stared in wonder at the gun they had given him.

"The three of you will need to join Sariel outside. She'll open the gate. After that stick close to her and follow her instructions. She knows the way down there." Michael's face was tense, and he slapped Dean on the shoulder lightly. "Good luck."

Dean nodded at him and they headed out the front door. Outside the sun was bright, brighter than it should have been, and everything seemed more colorful and alive. Sariel was standing silently next to a tall black door with her face turned up towards the light, and for a moment she was too bright for Dean to look directly at. When she turned to them though the light dimmed and he saw how tightly she was holding herself in. She opened the door and stepped through, the three of them following her.

And then they were in Hell.

* * *

It wasn't the screams, or the overwhelming smell of sulfur and brimstone, or the heat that bothered Dean. It was the odd pit in his stomach that left him shaking slightly. The feeling he'd lost something he never even knew he had. Across from him Sam was looking around with wide eyes, and Bobby was frowning grimly. Sariel surveyed the landscape and then extended her wings. "They'll notice us soon. Move fast." She tossed the weapon to Sam, and they headed deeper into hell. Dean couldn't help but look around at the Pit he was supposed to be a part of. The ground beneath them was hard packed red dust, and the air was so dry it hurt to breathe. Every now and then Dean would see flares of fire around him, and in those fires he saw souls writhing. He could hear the screams, and smell the blood on the air. Sariel's step was sure and swift as they followed her.

To their right they heard a booming female voice and Dean's eyes cut over at the sound of it. "Sam and Dean Winchester. Finally in Hell."

Dean was just about to drop a snarky reply, but Sam beat him to the punch by lifting the shotgun and cutting Ruby in half with its blast. She fell with her mouth wide open, and Dean looked at Sam in admiration and surprise. Sam grinned back at him. Then the horde descended.

Sariel's blades came out, and she took anyone who could get through the crossfire of the two brothers and Bobby. Blood flew, and screams rent the air, but they kept moving forward as they cut their way through the armies of Hell. Dean couldn't help but compare it to any number of Westerns, the final climactic showdown, and he was supremely glad that Heavenly guns never seemed to run out of ammo. His wrists were going numb, but they kept moving. They had to keep moving. He took a slice to the chest from a demon that got too close, and moments later he heard Sam cry out as one managed to put a pike into his shoulder. Bobby grunted and pushed another demon down before unloading in its face. Across from them Sariel shouted "Almost there. Keep moving."

They had dwindled the numbers down, but their injuries were slowing them. Dean heard a high scream, and when he turned he saw a brute of a demon holding Sariel's wing in a brutal twist as she tried to slice backwards at him. Dean took the two steps forward to close the distance and shot the fucker at point blank range. It fell, and Sariel stumbled backward against him, one wing hanging at a drunken angle. Her face was painted with agony, but she motioned forward, and Dean saw the throne that sat ahead of them.

This is what the demons were trying to protect. They approached the iron chair and studied it. It's plainer than Dean thought it would be, and the lack of ornate decoration temporarily throws him off. Dean saw Sam dig into his pocket to pull the grenade, and then the air shook as a male voice rolled across the landscape.

"Sariel. You came back to me. Has our time finally come?"

Her head whipped around, and he saw the fear there before she turned it into a look of defiance and hatred. She turned back to them quickly. "Drop the weapon and run. Move quickly. I'll hold him back."

Dean shook his head, and Sam stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "We leave together or we don't leave at all Sari. We don't leave family behind."

She looked at his hand, and when her eyes moved back up Dean saw how sad they were. "Thank you, but I never deserved to be a Winchester." And then she pushed Sam backwards, and Dean just managed to catch him before she was running. Bobby dashed after her, and the ground behind them split open and separated leaving a chasm between the two of them and the two brothers. She was staring in horror at Bobby. Dean made his way to the edge of it and then looked up to catch her eyes.

"Sariel! Sariel we're gonna have a hell of a damn argument about this topside!" She looked at him, and then back to Bobby. Her face became grim.

"We'll meet you at the house. Drop the weapon and leave."

Dean waited for her to look at him. "I mean it babe. You better be there when I get back."

Her grin was small, but heartening. "I'll be right behind you."

She turned, and Bobby followed her into the smoke of Hell's fires.

* * *

Sam looked at the grenade, and then at Dean. They could hear howls in the distance, as the rest of Hell's army apparently caught on to what was happening. Their way back was lined with demon bodies, and Sam squeezed the weapon for a moment before he met Dean's eyes. "Dean. Just in case-"

"No Sammy. No. Not going to happen. We're getting out of this. I'm getting more pie from my damn wife. You're going to meet a nice girl and have a normal life. No goodbye speeches. Time for action."

He expected his brother to argue, or continue without listening to him, but Sam surprised him. He grinned that bright dimple-laden look and closed his eyes gripping the grenade. It shone brighter for a moment, and then Sam dropped it on the throne. "Well then let's get going Dean."

They began to run, and Dean heard the howls getting closer. The door was ahead of them, standing tall and dark in the middle of the dusty landscape, and he held his bleeding chest and gritted his teeth as his legs pumped. When they reached the door Sam threw it open, and the sunlight on the other side was blessedly warm and soft. They stumbled through it, and were sitting up in the living room. Dean's head hurt, his whole damn body hurt really, and there was an awful ashy taste in his mouth. Beside him Sam breathed heavily with wide eyes.

Dean scrambled up and looked to Bobby, a gash on his old friend's face and his hands bruised and bloody. Bobby was still sleeping. He glanced around the circle of the archangels, and saw how dire the situation was from their expressions. Sam spoke while Dean panicked. "Why is Bobby asleep? Where's Sariel? _Has it gone off yet_?"

Yves shook his head. "It has yet to go off. We expect-"

The ground shook, the light fixtures blinked crazily, and ceiling dust drifted down. An unearthly screaming lifted from the ground beneath them and then abruptly cut off. Bobby's eyes snapped open and he sat up with one hand out and his mouth hanging slack. Dean felt his heart drop crazily as he looked around for Sariel. Then he heard something slam into the roof, and he was out the door, pushing his sore and tired legs as hard as he could as he pumped his way around the house. He saw her coming over the edge of the roof at the last second, and he caught her before she hit the ground, sliding on his knees like a baseball player trying to reach home plate. Her broken wing hung limply over his arms, and there was a chunk of bright metal sticking out of her right breast. Blood painted her lips and she gasped breathlessly up at him, as she stared towards Heaven. He heard Michael shouting in the distance, felt someone trying to take her from him, and struggled to hold onto her before he realized he had to let them help her. Her mouth moved silently and she trembled as Michael took her. Dean saw her wings melting back into her arms, and her eyes cycling from silver to a stormy and glazed grey.

They slammed back through the front door, and Michael laid her gently on the floor before another archangel knelt beside him. She wrapped her hand in a shining cloth, and gently gripped the metal before pulling it from Sariel's chest and stepping back. Dean hit his knees again beside her as she still stared sightlessly through him. Her lips moved constantly as if she was speaking, but no sound came out. There was so much blood, and a red-haired archangel slipped in on the other side of her and began the difficult process of closing the chest wound. Dean caught Michael's dark eyes.

"What's she saying? What's happening?"

He felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, and then Bobby's hand took the other one. Michael's face was full of grief. "She is praying to the Word. It will not make you feel better to know what she is asking for."

Dean started to get up, but Sam and Bobby held him still. Her lips still moved but her eyes finally closed. Dean felt horrible that this was a relief. He couldn't stand seeing her looking blindly upwards at the Word. She had been abandoned again and Dean could feel rage flaring inside him. The Hunter's voice in his head spoke grimly. _Could have sliced open her lung, any number of potential organs and arteries and veins there. Probably won't live._

The archangel at her chest, red-hair, Raguel, his brain supplied uselessly, looked up hopelessly. "I can't close this. Lucifer's blade did the damage, and it's beyond my skill."

Dean held Michael's eyes. "What. Is. She. Saying."

Michael swallowed once and his hand stroked back her hair. "She is thanking the Word for bringing you, and your brother, and your friend out alive. She is thanking the Word for her time with you. She is pleading that she will see you once more before she dies."

Dean felt his hands tighten on her arm till he was sure he was bruising her. "If she dies she'll go to Heaven, and then she can come back down right?" He couldn't release Michael's gaze now, and the unnaturally blue stare that was returned looked so grim and despairing Dean's panicked brain flirted with the idea of removing his eyes so they couldn't jinx Sariel's recovery. The voice in his head that was looking at all of this coldly and logically saw Michael's face and began to mock his desperation. His childish question. Him.

"No. This body is her very essence. If it dies she is gone forever. That was her sentence."

Dean's world crumbled into pieces, and Sam and Bobby were the only thing holding him up. Sam's voice came out harsh and cold over him.

"Tell the Word to heal her. Go over to wherever you need to and tell the Word to heal her."

Bobby took up the same threatening tone as Sam. "And in the meantime if you can't help get the Hell out."


	12. Dazed and Confused

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Twelve: Dazed and Confused

"I have to stand by and take it baby, all for lovin' you./ Drown myself in sorrow, and I look at what you've done./ But nothin' seems to change, the bad times and the shame,/ And I can't run./ Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel,/ Like I been tied to the whipping post/ Tied to the whipping post,/ Tied to the whipping post,/ Good lord, I feel like I'm dyin'."- Allman Brothers "Whipping Post"

Dean carries her upstairs by himself. Without speaking a word to them Bobby and Sam know that he cannot accept help with this task. It is a horrible, reminiscent of the long journey from where Sam fell to his knees in the mud and the car Dean carefully laid his motionless body in. He lays her in the bed they've shared for so long, and stares at the open wound on the right side of her chest till he feels Sam slip the needle into his hand. His movements are mechanical and sure, and his hands never shake as he sews the gash shut. He's done this hundreds of times on himself, Sam, Bobby, and even his father, but it has never been this comforting. Her flesh is warm to the touch; her breathing is shallow but there. _She is alive_. No matter what else is happening to her she is alive, and Dean will wait till her eyes open so that he can tell her how incredibly fucking stupid she is. He just has to wait. He can't speak to them when Sam and Bobby begin to discuss options. His hands stroke over her hair, and then stray back to touch the skin around the wound. Dean isn't sure if he survived the fight. Maybe he died and this is Hell. There should be triumph here that they've beaten the odds, that they've killed the Devil, but it all pales in comparison to the still form laying in front of him. If she doesn't wake Dean isn't sure what he'll do.

He hears Sam and Bobby leave the room, and the cold and logical part of his mind that is working on overtime knows that they are discussing him. Whether he will break. If they can trust to leave him alone. He puts gauze carefully over her chest wound, and then leaves her long enough to get a pair of her pajama pants and one of his worn and soft t-shirts. She's as light and pliant as a doll as he redresses her. He remembers laying Sam down and watching how his little brother's broad chest refused to rise or fall no matter how Dean willed it to move. The feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, as if the dark spot that has been in Dean since the night his mother died finally expanded enough to devour him. With Sam gone he had been left with only two options; deal or die. It doesn't escape his notice that they've wiped the first option off the map this morning, and now he's left with only the other. Another Winchester Widower. He comes back to himself and sees the destruction of the room around him. His hands are covered in blood, and the index finger on the left is canted at a crazy angle. Bobby is shaking him violently while Sam stands at the doorway, pale and cautious. Dean looks at the devastation and thinks that it's a good start, but not quite enough.

* * *

The news is filled with stories of random fires, strange sightings, and general chaos. The televangelists scream about the end of the world on one set of channels, while the other stations carry an endless string of comforting government officials that explain away the events. Dean hears the television proclaiming these newsworthy bits downstairs, but he doesn't ever try to get up and see any of the people chattering from it or the images they are surely showing.

Sam went downstairs at one point and came back with tears in his eyes to tell Dean that the fridge is filled with pies. Dean doesn't follow his first instinct, which is to grab her and scream into her passive face till he's spitting blood.

She has been unconscious for two days when Sam and Bobby come back from a trip with equipment they've stolen from the hospital. Sam follows the instructions on the internet carefully as he greases the long tube up and then inserts it. Bobby holds her head at an angle, and then they prop her up and attempt their first tube feeding. Dean watches silently. He hasn't spoken since they returned from Hell, and he's beginning to wonder if he can speak anymore or if his voice has gone to sleep with her. He eats mechanically when either Sam or Bobby shove food into his hands. Sam knows better than to bring him any of the pie. His time is mostly taken by stroking her hair, washing her, or changing her clothes. He won't leave her unless he knows that Sam is beside her, and his brother accepts this silently.

When they've finished the first feeding Sam clamps off the tube and then sits across from Dean. Bobby clears his throat. "Dean. I got a lead on a possible healer. Gonna go check it out and then come back, ok?"

Dean simply nods and then Bobby is gone. He drifts away from the whole thing as he holds her hand. Her skin is no longer warm to the touch, and Dean's only hope rests in the fact that her eyes move under their lids. She may not be waking, but there is activity there, and Dean knows that's a good sign. Sam doesn't try to speak to him, and Dean is so grateful it hurts.

* * *

They've reached the three week mark. Even with the tube feedings she is losing too much weight, and her hair has become brittle. Dean takes extra care to wash her, and follow Sam's instructions about keeping her muscles from atrophying. The chest wound no longer bleeds but it refuses to heal. They have to clean it regularly to prevent infection, and Dean can't remember what her voice sounds like.

He still hasn't spoken himself, and Bobby has returned and then left twice since his first lead. Sam researches constantly. There is no answer from Heaven regarding what the Word will do. He's sure that they'll get a decision one way or another, but he's given up hope that it will be the one they want. Her voice was like…

He can't remember. He remembers her laugh, and the sight of her smiling with Sam and gesturing wildly. He remembers how she smelled and tasted before she became a lump of flesh on a bed. He remembers all of that, but in his memories when her mouth opens to speak there is no sound, and Dean thinks he'll go insane. That night he falls asleep with his hand tucked under her face and his back twisted at a strange angle. His dream is vivid and beyond strange.

* * *

He's in a wide room, the walls painted white and the windows large archways with no curtains or panes. The breeze that comes through them is sweet and clean, and Dean indulges himself and takes a deep breath of it. This is a place of peace, and he wanders towards the large table in the center of the room as his fingers trail along the smooth wall. He hears a throat clearing, and spins to see Sariel standing in the doorway with a book in her hand. Her face is unscarred, her eyes big and silver, and her wings are out. She wears a diaphanous gown, and he can see the outline of her body as she crosses the room barefoot and silent. She gives him a polite smile. "You're not supposed to be here."

It's her voice, the one he's been chasing for what seems like eternity, and the sound of it makes his knees weak. She drops the book to catch his elbows, and he can't help but reach up to rub his thumb over the smooth skin on the left side of her face. Her smile is still polite but cautious. "I will return you to your section of Heaven. This is the library. It's off limits to mortals."

He goes to open his mouth, but suddenly her hands leave his skin and she's lifting the book and walking past him as if he no longer exists. Dean turns and sees the man standing in the opposite doorway. He is tall, remarkably handsome, and he makes Dean's blood run cold. His red hair is a little too long, and it falls into eyes that are an unnatural light blue. "Sariel." Dean recognizes the voice instantly. Her smile is a little strained as she lowers the book to the table and gives him a hug.

"Lucifer. Why have you come here?"

Dean moves forward, but she's ignoring him as she lets Lucifer hold onto her arms. "I've heard what the Word has asked of you. I want to volunteer to be the leader in the Pit. "

Dean sees the hesitation in her face. When he speaks his voice is rough from disuse. "What's happening? Sariel?"

She doesn't even glance at him. "Lucifer no. You're too important. I will choose someone that can be spared."

He narrows his eyes for a moment before smoothing out his face. "I want to serve the Word as you do. I know it's a burden, but I can handle it. You'll be there to monitor me, and I know the steps for the creation process. Please Sariel. Give me the chance to prove myself."

She grins shakily at him and then nods. "All right Lucifer. You'll have to choose the others though."

Dean grabs at her arm and for a moment he has it. She looks at him in surprise. Then Lucifer is brushing past him and he's knocked backwards through the wall. He comes to in the chair beside the bed and sees that her eyes are dancing a rapid jig under the closed lids.

He looks up to Sam's pitying face and he wants to destroy things again. Instead he sits very still and strokes her hair.

* * *

Five weeks in and Bobby is on a wild goose chase to find miracle water. Sam has mastered the art of the feedings, and while it keeps her alive she's looking grayer by the day. Dean has caught glimpses of himself in the mirror. He can see that he's fading just as quickly. He remembers what his father looked like after his mother died, and he imagines this is what John Winchester would have done if he had nothing to fight. But they've destroyed Hell and the Devil, and there's nothing to get vengeance on. He strokes her hair softly and watches. When he falls asleep with his hand touching her face this time the transition from waking to dream is violent.

* * *

They're in Hell. Dean knows the smell and the sound of it too well. Sariel is standing with her back to him, and he sees the long form-fitting black dress and the wings first. He recognizes the shape of her body and he reaches for her shoulder. When she turns her face is still unmarked, but now her eyes are crimson. She looks frightened and desperate. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here." The walls around them this time are black rock, and they echo the screams of the damned oddly. She shakes his shoulders lightly and takes in his shocked gaze. "You have to leave. I've broken your contract, and I'll get you out of here, but I have to-"

He can't stand it anymore. He puts his fingers over her mouth. "Sariel. What's going on?" His voice is a low and thick growl, and for a moment he thinks he sees a flash of recognition in her eyes before it's gone.

The door behind her opens and Lucifer strolls in. His eyes are a deep inky black instead of the light blue Dean saw before. He studies Dean for a moment before his gaze turns to Sariel. She is shaking as she holds onto him.

"Is it true? You broke his contract?"

Dean speaks up. "She's coming with me you son of-" and then his voice is gone, replaced by a gag, and his hands are bound in chains above his head. He pulls uselessly and knows that he won't be breaking out by strength.

Lucifer's expression is one of complete recognition. He smirks at Dean before he turns to Sariel, and Dean watches her compose herself in front of him. "You broke his contract Sariel? That is unlike you. Your orders were to watch and report not to interfere."

"The deal was false. He doesn't belong here and you know it." The defiance in her voice is familiar, and he's glad to hear it.

Lucifer's smirk is cold, and his hand travels up to stroke the still smooth left side of her face. "I understand Sariel. I know what's happening here. But you've forgotten sweetest that while you may be able to break the contract I am the one who controls the entrances and exits for mortal souls. He is not leaving."

She pulled back from his touch as if he had burned her. "The Word-"

"The Word doesn't care and It has no power here. You've prayed enough by now to know that. Doing this won't change anything." He took her shoulders and turned her so that she was looking at Dean, but her eyes were focused on something else beyond him. Something from the memory that Dean was beginning to believe this was. "It has abandoned you Sariel, but that's alright. I won't leave you. We could torture this soul together, and all those doubts and fears you have would leave. You'll be stronger and I'll be right there with you. We'll rule my Creation together."

Her crimson eyes closed for a second and then reopened full of determination. "No. I won't be a part of this. I am taking him out Lucifer, and once I find a way to do so I will deliver him to Heaven personally."

His hands clamped onto her shoulders, and pain flashed across her features before he released and stroked the abused flesh. "You don't torture with us, you don't fuck with us, you don't consume with us. You simply watch and pray and waste away. Now you want to leave? Alright. Let's make a deal Sariel."

When her eyes meet Dean's again he sees all-consuming terror there. Terror and a horrible clarity. She is really seeing him now. Dean began to struggle again, and she moved slightly forward before Lucifer squeezed her shoulders tightly. Dean watched tears slide down her face. "Please, not again. Not with him here." Her voice is a broken whisper and any trace of her earlier defiance is gone.

Lucifer's smile was broad and full of teeth, and he leaned towards her ear while catching Dean's gaze. "No Sariel. Not again. The first time. It's _always_the first time. Now your line is 'What is the deal?'"

Her tears stopped, her face took on that same distant expression, and she parroted his words in a flat and dead voice.

"Let me have you." When one of his hands settled on her hip Dean began to jerk against the chains so hard he could feel the flesh of his wrists ripping. "Let me taste your body. Teach you pleasure. Of course, doing this will bar you from Heaven forever, but all you care about is saving him right? Sacrifice your Purity to me Sariel and I'll let him go."

Dean remembered that night in the kitchen, how he had so cockily thought that her fear was connected to love. He understood now. He understood with a bleak and hateful clarity what she had been afraid of, what the other archangels had alluded to, and why their words hurt her so much. He understood, and hated them all in that moment. Hated their smug superiority, hated the ease of their existence compared to hers, and hated himself for never trying to figure it all out. To help her.

She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and spoke softly. "Do it."

It lasted for days, or months, or maybe even years. Dean couldn't judge the time properly. For the first part of it she screamed and Dean screamed with her. He pulled on the chains so desperately that he felt how little muscle and tissue remained over the bones of his wrists, blood dripping down his arms and mixing with the tears on his face. When she went still and silent halfway through Dean watched her broken and expressionless face stare at the memory of the soul she was sacrificing everything for.

When Lucifer was done he winked once at Dean before stroking her hair. "_Mine forever_." His footsteps ring on the stone floor as he exits. She rolled over and her eyes opened to stare at the ceiling. It seemed to take forever before his muffled cries roused her, and she stood slowly before crossing the room and muttering to his chains. Once the chains were off she knelt down with him and stroked the ripped flesh of his wrists. He watched her blank look. When she glanced up again she touched his face. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have seen that." Her voice was hoarse and sorrowful.

Dean fought with rage and anguish. He grabbed her in his arms and pulled her against him. "Please baby. Please you gotta wake up. Stop living here and wake up with me."

Her voice, in the hollow of his shoulder, was small and childlike. "Dean?"

He pulled back and looked at her, saw that she was seeing him again, and shook her gently. "Yeah. Yeah it's me Sari and we gotta wake up. We gotta wake up _now_. "

"Dean. You saw this? You saw what I did?" Her eyes were widening, and he saw the rush of self-loathing and hatred.

"Don't care. Don't care 'bout that. Just gotta wake up and come back to me." And then he was awake, and screaming, but she continued to lay still. Sam was shaking him violently.

"Dean- Dean shit- your wrists man, what did you do?"Dean looked down at the blood on the sheets, and his torn flesh. When he looked up Sam's expression was wild and desperate. "Talk to me man. What happened?" His brother fumbled around for the first aid kit and started trying to tend to him.

He stood, tumbled past Sam, and emptied the meager contents of his stomach in the wastebasket before sliding down the floor to lean against the wall. When he spoke his voice was the same hoarse growl it had been in Hell.

"She's in there. I don't understand why or how but she's in there reliving every one of her worst moments over and over again. It's killing her Sam."

Sam's look of horror perfectly expresses how Dean feels.

* * *

They're sitting on the couch. Bobby is watching Sariel, and this leaves Dean twitchy and unsure. The small figurine Michael once gave him sits in the middle of the coffee table. Sam's hands are hanging in between his thighs as he carefully watches his older brother. "Tell me everything."

And Dean does. He watches Sam's horror, the comprehension and understanding, and the sympathetic pain. In any other circumstance Dean would keep this secret from Sam. Partially to protect Sam, but also because it is Sariel's secret and Dean feels like he's betraying her a bit. When he's finished Sam stands nervously and taps his hands rapidly against his thighs as he thinks. His long stride crosses the living room several times before he turns to Dean.

"She recognized you when you were right there. When you were holding her and talking to her?"

"Little bit."

Sam shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Dean it sounds like a Death Echo."

Dean met Sam's eyes, and watched his little brother flinch at whatever he saw staring back at him. "She ain't dead."

"No I know that, but that's what it sounds like. Although the Lucifer part bothers me. He seems to recognize you every time right?"

Dean nodded slowly as he considered. "Could he be in there? Like a part of him holding her down in there?"

Sam's nod was eager. "He's trapping her in painful memories. Torturing her over and over again. So you have to break her out, just like a Death Echo, but maybe you have to kill him too."

Dean's fingers brushed the figurine on the table. Killing Lucifer would be a pleasure. "We ask Michael. Drag his sorry ass here and make him talk. Then I go back in. Today."

Sam is once again the essence of sympathy and understanding. It's an aspect his brother takes on all too often. "Dean, man, you're weak from the last time. You can be injured in there. You have to go at full strength."

When Dean catches his eyes again he knows his look is cold and angry. "No waiting Sam. Not this time."

He snatched up the figurine and concentrated, and when he felt the pull of Michael's power his eyes opened slowly. The archangel stood in front of them and watched them both. "You summoned me?"

Dean was surprised when Sam shoved past the coffee table to grab Michael's shirt and twist it. "You were supposed to speak to the Word. You were supposed to come back. It's been over a month." His little brother's face is ferocious. It always amazes Dean too see how frightening Sam can be now. It's disconcerting because so often Sam is still Dean clumsy little brother instead of the big and deadly hunter he's become.

"I spoke to the Word. It said that this task was up to you, and that It was opening a door It had opened once before." Michael looked down at Sam's hands and then back up to Dean. "It said you had to save her."

Dean wanted to shout, to scream, to attack. He wanted to rip Michael to shreds. Instead he stood slowly and stepped to Sam's side. "She didn't fuck him for pleasure. It was the only way to get him to release the soul." The look of anguish and guilt on Michael's face is all the damage Dean needs to feel triumphant. He turns his back on Michael and walks towards the stairs. He has a damsel to rescue.

* * *

"Ok. You have your gun, and if there's any justice it'll travel with you. I'll stay here and lead you back. I'm not sure how yet, but I'll figure it out." Sam's hand touched his shoulder and Dean finally broke his stare at Sariel's body to look up at his little brother. Behind him Bobby was watching the whole thing with grave eyes. "You have to come back with her Dean. So pay attention to anything that might seem like me. Be careful."

Dean stood for a moment and pulled Sam into a tight hug. "You too Sammy." It was as close to saying 'I love you' as he was willing to get.

He lay down on the bed beside Sariel his hand cupping the scarred side of her face. There was the brief sting of the needle as Sam injected him with the sedative, and then he was falling into her nightmare.

Dean had expected to see the church next. To have to pull her out of the horror of being tortured further after her recent violation by Lucifer. Instead he was standing rather suddenly in their living room. He heard the Impala rev to life outside and he watched her standing at the window looking out as he and Sam drove away. There was snow on the ground, and when she turned away from the glass he saw the blank look of shock on her face. Her gaze traveled over him once and then came back and focused on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

"You been saying that a lot lately."

She stepped past him and turned the stereo on. She twisted the volume control carefully, and then stepped over to the side of the fireplace Dean had sat on during that long night. Her fingers stroked the wood softly, and she sat and wrapped her arms around her knees. Dean moved forward slowly. "Sariel. I'm here to wake you up."

"She is quite awake." Dean's eyes swiveled to Lucifer and his hand twitched towards his gun.

Sariel didn't bother looking up to speak. "Hallucinations speaking to hallucinations. I miss pseudo-mortality already." Lucifer's laughter is enough to make her start shaking.

"Sariel. Look at you. What did you expect? Had he have stayed eventually he'd have learned the truth." Dean let him cross the floor. Let him turn his back so that he could touch her face. "Once he did it all would have been over anyway. Who could possibly want this dirty aspect of yours?"

Dean took aim while Lucifer taunted, and he waited till she had looked up into his black eyes. Then he pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, and the house shook for a moment before Lucifer simply disappeared. Dean gave only a few seconds to the thought that it seemed too easy.

Her eyes were wide with shock. He dropped the gun and crossed the room to take her face in his hands. "Listen to me real carefully babe 'cause I ain't joking around here. What you did? Not your fault. You had no damn choices left. I still love you. I still want you. But you've been stuck in this nightmare for a while and you gotta bust out now. Sam and Bobby are waiting out there. _I'm_waiting out there. You understand me?"

She shook her head, and her eyes were wide and childlike as tears began to escape them. "What's happening Dean? You just left. Why are you here again?"

"It's a long damn story that you'll remember once we get out of here. Will you come with me?"

She looked around the room, and then turned back to him. "You're trying to tell me that you're real. That I'm locked in my memories. That after everything you've seen and heard you're still going to want me the way you did before?"

Dean, who had always been an impulsive action kinda guy, skipped words and took her lips. He poured everything into that kiss, slanting his mouth over hers and waiting for her to allow him entrance. When she did he stroked her tongue with his, and let her feel his desire, his love, his sorrow, and his rage. When he finally pulled back her eyes were wide and her head tilted. "Do you hear that?"

Dean looked up, over the sound of the soft and sad song she had started to play he heard a driving guitar, and a low insistent drum beat. He grinned. "Yeah. Sammy's calling us home." She let him pull her up, and when he caught her gaze a ghost of a smile crossed her lips.

"You promise me Dean? That this isn't a trick? That when we get back you aren't just going to leave?"

Dean squeezed her hand tightly. "For such a smart lady you can be real dumb. I ain't leaving you. Came all this way to get you didn't I?"

Her smile was real now and she looked towards the door. "You're going to see a lot of things. We have to travel forward through the narrative to reach the present. Hold onto my hand and don't stop."

Dean nodded. "Ok. Let's go."

And as the music began to pick up, they stepped through the front door, and into the stream of Sariel's memories.

* * *

The words to the song begin as they enter the first scene. It's not anything like Dean expected. There is a flat and vast nothingness, and the archangels stand together looking out over it. They are all younger and somehow softer looking. Even Uriel's face is lit by a smile, and Gabriel stands with his arms crossed and a look of wonder.

_"Here from the king's mountain view/ Here from the wild dream come true/ Feast like a sultan I do/ On treasures and flesh never few"_

He catches a glimpse of Sariel, and she looks like a little girl standing beside something so bright and immense Dean can't even consider It. He hears It speak, and suddenly sand appears beneath them, sky above, and the ocean rolls out like a huge blue carpet. Sariel begins to pull him forward as he watches the memory of her smile with delight. They plunge into the ocean and come out in front of the archangels, kneeling before a group of awestruck humans. Sariel is smiling, and Lucifer is saying something to the mortals with a similar grin on his face.

_"But I... I would/ Wish it... all away/ If I... thought I'd/ Lose you just one day"_

She pulls him forward through bushes, and they come out to see her standing over a man with blood on his hands. Her face is cramped with grief and sickness, and beside her Uriel is grim and angry. She reaches once for the man on the ground, but Uriel pushes her back and watches her as the tears break through. Sariel drags him through the door of a small hut standing behind the guilt-stricken human.

_"The Devil and his had me down/ In love with the dark side I'd found/ Dabblin' all the way down/ Up to my neck soon to drown"_

They push past the library scene, and then rush through her standing beside Lucifer as he addresses a group of angels. They duck down into a doorway, and when they come out the angels are standing in an empty space while Lucifer chants. Hell forms around them, and Dean sees the shadow of disquiet on the memory of Sariel's face as she watches the pride in Lucifer's expression.

_"But you changed that all for me/ Lifted me up turned me round/ so I.. I.. I.. I..."_

Her hand grips him tight, and the next scene is her on her knees. Lucifer's eyes are no longer blue, and Dean is shaken by the black emptiness he sees there and the despair it causes on her face. Sariel is kneeling in front of him and weeping, and Dean can see her lips mouthing 'I'm sorry' as the Sariel in front of him jerked him violently forward to the closest door. They stumble their way through her violation and Dean sees the soul she suffered for as it becomes him pushing her forward. He expected that the man would be handsome, that he would look special, that there would be something about him, but he is just the same standard looking man Dean has seen a thousand times. An accountant or a bank clerk, father of this many kids, loving husband to this wife, mows his lawn and does his taxes. Dean feels an unexplainable rage at the horrible fucking banality of him even as he's pushing Sariel through a doorway.

_"I would, I would, I would/ wish this all away/ pray like a martyr dusk till dawn/ beg like a hooker all night long"_

They pass Sariel being led by Gabriel back down, his face already slightly mad and viciously triumphant. They slam through her disfigurement and into the church to see her on her knees, bloody and bowed, at the altar. She is praying, and Dean can see the hopelessness of it before they duck through the back doorway and into a city street. There are horses and buggies, and ahead of him Sariel is stumbling, wrapped in the moth-eaten altar cloth and soaked in her own blood. Her feet are unsteady, and when a man steps out and tries to grab her she falls backwards screaming in a language Dean doesn't know. Her terror is heartbreaking to see.

_"Tempted the devil with my song./ And got what I wanted all along./ But I,/ And I would,/ If I could,/ And I would,/ Wish it away,/ Wish it away,/ Wish it all away,"_

The images are more disjointed as they rocket through time. He sees her with raw and open wounds, her hands out to a man passing her on the street struggling to form the word please through chapped lips, and Dean feels righteous fury as the man turns away from her with disgust. The music is getting progressively louder, and Dean could hug Sam till his brother smothered for thinking of this. He's not familiar with the song, but it's working, pushing Sariel faster and faster ahead of him. He sees her with her face stitched and her hands trembling as she takes what he's sure is her first bite of food. When she looks up from it at the wary woman across from her there's delight and surprise in every line of her wounded face.

_"Wanna wish it all away,/ No prize that could hold sway,/ Or justify my giving away,/ my center./ So if I could I'd wish it all away."_

He sees her trembling as she stands in a small town grocery store and considers the small pile of coins in her hand. They move through to a scene where her scar looks fresh and new as she holds the woman from before, now ancient looking and dying in her arms. Dean sees the beginning of that sad look she had when she first met them, but she smiles at the old woman gently.

_"If I thought tomorrow would take you away./ You're my peace of mind, my home, my center./ I'm just trying to hold on,/ One more day./ Damn my eyes.../ Damn my eyes..."_

The music pushes them on, gaining volume and power as Dean sees history unfurl. Sariel the one constant as a timeline he dimly remembers from his school days plays out around her. She's staring openly at a group of children playing, she's holding a bloody African-American man as people surge past her screaming, watching soldiers ship off to war with serious and hopeless faces, on a stage looking uncomprehendingly as a man hands her the keys to the Shelby and the audience cheers. A karaoke contest. He files it away for later, as this is a story he has to hear.

_"Damn my eyes if they should compromise our fulcrum/ once my needs define me/ I might as well be gone./ Shine on forever./ Shine on benevolent sun."_

He sees her arrive in Macy, and her first act is to run directly into Anna and Jared. She helps Anna up and they laugh. Then she is practicing with the band, and Dean watches as her red eyes light up and she sings with a smile. They're close, so close to home he can't stand it, and the music has become everything.

_"Shine down upon the broken./ Shine until the two become one./ Shine on forever./ Shine on benevolent sun./ Shine on upon the severed./ Shine until the two become one."_

He sees himself that first time in the bar, sees himself the way she sees him, and his breath is forced out of his lungs at it. He is tall, strong, and he shines with a certain light that has her staring at him like a moth to a flame. When the memory of him smiles at Sam, Dean can see that she's already falling for him. He watches their meeting at her door, sees the disappointment he missed the first time when he rejected her hand. His eyes are so green to her it hurts him to see them.

_"Divided I'm withering away./ Divide and I'm withering away./ Shine on upon the many, light our way/ Benevolent sun."_

He watches her come upon himself and Sam, sees her transformation from half-mortal to angel, and then her sad vigil as he and Sam leave the next morning. He's cramped with remorse at the sight, but she forces him forward. He sees their induction as Soldiers, her desperate fight to reach Bobby, and the reconciliation in the kitchen. When he mentions marriage there is a look in her eyes that is both fear and hunger. The wedding flashes by and a cavalcade of emotions assault him. Suddenly they are slamming past her fight with Lucifer, the blade entering her chest as Bobby fires at oncoming demons, and the last of her strength being used to slice Lucifer's throat, and stumble backwards with the broken sword in her chest before taking Bobby out of Hell. They smash through a doorway, and there they see Sam and Bobby standing in the bedroom as Dean lies beside her with his hands twitching and his face cycling through expressions.

_"Breathe in union./ Breathe in union./ Breathe in union./ Breathe in union./ Breathe in union./ So as one survive./ Another day and season."_

Here the music is so loud Bobby has his hands over his ears, and Sam is wincing as he keeps checking Dean's pulse and then Sariel's. She squeezes his hand and points his gaze to her chest, where there is a dark mass just under her skin. "Do you see it? That's the piece of him. You have to get it out Dean. **Get him out of me**."

_"Silence, legion, and save your praises/ Silence, legion, and stay out of my way."_

And then Dean is awake, the song is ending, and the world is in motion around him. Sam is struggling to remove the tube from her nose while Bobby tries to hold her down. Dean catches a glimpse of one desperate grey eye before it rolls backwards into her skull. Her arms are jerking and flailing, and Dean knows what has to be done. It scares him, damn it scares him, but he moves with that old relaxed surety he's so good at faking. He pulls his knife from his back pocket, flips the blade out, and cuts the stitches in her breast. He hears Bobby's cry of shock, sees Sam stagger back with the tube and wide eyes, and then he plunges his fingers into her flesh and begins to dig. When pain explodes across his fingertips and rolls up his arm in a wave that almost bowls him over he knows he's there. He grips the heat of it, the terrible agonizing burn, and pulls.

Later Sam will tell him that he saw smoke coming from the wound, that Dean's muscles corded like he was trying to lift a car, but all Dean knows in the moment is that Sam moves forward and grabs his arm. Sam backs him up with the absolute trust Dean has missed so much since Sam started turning his back on the family business. His little brother's strength added to his own is enough, and the piece of metal pulls free from her rib and clatters out across the floor. Dean's fingertips are black and the pain is extraordinary, but Sariel stops seizing and her eyes roll back down. They are grey, and grateful, and her mouth moves silently around words Dean knows without hearing. Sam takes up the slack and stitches the wound closed for what Dean hopes will be the last time.


	13. Pride and Joy

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter Thirteen: Pride and Joy

"I'm a rolling thunder,/ a pouring rain/ I'm coming on like a hurricane/ My lightning's flashing across the sky /You're only young but you're gonna die"- AC/DC "Hell's Bells"

Dean can't stop touching her. Across from him Sam and Bobby are celebrating, and Dean's glad, but he can't stop touching her. Her skin is warm again, her hair already looks stronger, her color better, and her eyes roam over his face. She's weak, but she leans into his fingers. When he's gotten his fill he pulls back and looks her in the eye sternly.

"Listen here, that was goddamn stupid what you did in Hell. I'll decide who deserves to be a Winchester, and I already put you on the team. Next time you go off half-cocked like that I'll-"

He's cut off by the sight of her silently laughing, and when he looks up Bobby is rubbing his eyes and Sam is lit up with delight. Dean's voice is still hoarse and thick. "What the hell's so funny?"

"You, ya idjit. Tell the girl you love her and stop trynna' be tough."

He meets her eyes and feels that rush of warmth again. So he kisses her and coma breath be damned.

* * *

It's been two weeks since he pulled Sariel out of the little Hell Lucifer created within her. In those two weeks she's become slightly ambulatory, but she still can't speak. Whatever she can't get out with hand gestures Sam fills in with his freaky powers. Dean is slightly jealous that his brother can communicate with her better, but he tempers that with how grumpy she can be when she has to be fully dependent on them. When the three of them turn their heads to the surge in power Dean carries her into the living room. Michael is waiting, and Dean feels a resurgence of the old anger before he carefully seats Sariel and takes a place beside her. Sam stands at her back behind the couch.

The surprise is evident on her face when Michael kneels before her. "My apologies archangel. I judged you unfairly. Forgive me."

Her eyes cut to Dean, and he tries to look anywhere but at her accusation. He hears Sam chuckle before his brother's voice conveys her message. "You gossip more than a woman."Dean grumbles but doesn't argue. Arguing through Sam is an experience he's had, and it was so unpleasant he's willing to ignore almost any provocation.

Her head turned to Michael and she made a gesture for him to get up. When he'd seated himself Sam spoke again. "What now?"Her eyes were bright as she weighed Michael's face.

"The Word has given Its judgment. The final part of the mortal book will not be followed. Creation will continue on as before apocalypse free. It has chosen a new leader and the Pit will be rebuilt. We will round up the demons that were on earth during the explosion and use them or destroy them."

Dean's jaw clenched and he looked over to see Sariel's mouth opening as she fought to make sound come out. Sam's voice was ragged as his lips moved in time with hers. "Why? Hasn't there been enough? "

Michael's head hung low and he stood. "The Word has given a command, and we will obey. It's our duty Sariel. You know what is most important. Man cannot turn on itself again."

Her eyes narrowed, and when Sam spoke it was angrier than Dean had ever heard his brother. "Get out."

Michael met her eyes. "The Word had one more command. You will remain here with your Soldiers until you feel you are done. Then you will return to Heaven. You are forgiven your transgression but the binding stays until you come back."

He nodded to Sam, and then again to Dean, before he disappeared through the door. Sariel tried to stand, and Dean caught her when her legs couldn't hold her up. She cried silently and he held her while Sam looked on.

* * *

She speaks for the first time eleven weeks after she wakes from her long nightmare. The wound has closed entirely, and she can move around freely on her own. The three of them are on the back patio when it happens. Sam is looking over a potential hunt and sipping his beer. Dean watched as Sariel leaned over his shoulder and considered the laptop's screen. She pointed to a line and then raised an eyebrow silently at Sam. Sam nodded seriously. She grinned, bright and wide, and then sat down in the chair beside him and took a pull from her own beer. Dean couldn't take the silent conversation anymore.

"Someone gonna clue me in?"

Sam glanced his way, that easy grin still on his face despite Dean's glare. When had his brother become immune to his intimidation? "Sure Dean. It looks like a witch."

Dean felt his face cramp in disgust. "Sam." It wasn't a whine. He was sure it wasn't a whine. "You know I hate witches."

"Well man sometimes we have to do things we hate, so that good people don't get killed." Sam's smile is mocking as he drinks his beer. He reaches out to put the beer on the table beside him, and finds it won't leave his hand. He looked at Dean, but Dean was just as surprised as he was. Between them Sariel began to shake. Sam's eyes cut to her accusingly. "You? You did this?"

Her voice is husky and low, almost quiet enough Dean can't hear it except he's been listening for it for what seems like a lifetime. "Yep." Dean was laughing, and it was the laughing that brought tears to his eyes. He'd never admit to anything different. He rubbed harshly at them while Sam picked her up in one arm and swung her around joyously.

* * *

Dean agreed to go on the hunt, as long as Bobby came over to stay with Sariel. She gave him a dirty look, but he shook his head. "You got a bad habit of getting injured when I take my eyes off of you. This isn't a discussion."

That first word hadn't been followed by any others, and Dean found that he longed for her to speak even if it was to curse at him. Instead she stood, and pointed a finger at him menacingly.

He raised his hands, "Look sweetheart, I'm trying my best here but you gotta cut me some damn slack. Do this for me." He doesn't say please, can't say please. Let's his eyes do it for him. She looks at his expression for a long moment before throwing her hands up in the air.

That night she bakes him the best cherry pie he's ever eaten, and he knows it's her apology.

* * *

_Lexington, Tennessee_

The witch is sloppy. She's killed three men and they all have connections to one another. Dean looks at Sam's research grimly. "Well at least it's not a coven of them. So the witch has to be someone who works in the building."

Sam frowned at the list of employees for the largest engineering firm in Lexington. "That's the best lead we've got. It has to be someone with access to the victim's offices and a serious grudge against management. That means the next victim is going to be one of these three men." His finger tapped the three names at the top, "So we need to find out who it is, and keep an eye on these guys in case she hits one in the meantime."

Dean's grin broadened. "You thinking FBI? Cause I am."

* * *

"I'm Agent Zakk." Sam flipped the badge out in unison with him.

Dean gave his best grin to the well-built blonde trophy wife. "And I'm Agent Wylde."

She arched one delicate eyebrow and crossed her arms under her breasts to push them up. It was a gesture Dean was both familiar with and quite fond of. "What exactly is this about agents?"

"Well ma'am, we're investigating the deaths at Morgenstern and Thatcher. We wanted to speak to you and your husband. Ask you both some questions. Standard procedure."

She gestured them in, and Dean stayed three steps behind her to watch her ass move in yoga pants that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. Sam caught him looking and sent him a glare, but Dean just grinned back. He was hunting with his brother again. He had a wife that made cherry pie waiting for him. He was going to ruin some witch's day. Dean had never felt more content.

Sophie, the trophy wife, led them into a richly furnished sitting room and gestured that they should have a seat. She walked off down the hallway to find her husband and Sam turned to Dean.

"You want to do the hex bag search or should I?"

Dean looked around the room at the multitude of pictures of Sophie and her husband. "I'll search, you talk."

He waited for the couple to come back in, watched how Sophie sat next to her husband stiffly, and grinned once at Sam before excusing himself. He made his way up the grand staircase and opened the first door he found. He was on his third bedroom when a small voice piped up from behind him. "Who are you?"

Dean turned slowly and eyed the girl. He hadn't seen pictures of a little girl downstairs. "Agent Wylde. You?"

She smiled brightly. "I'm Olivia. What are you looking for?"

Dean hesitated as he considered her. Cute kid. "Clues. This your parent's bedroom?"

Olivia's smile wavered, and then she nodded her head. "Are you here 'cause Uncle Roger died?"

Dean's brain clicked off names till Roger made sense. Roger Moorehead was the second victim. "Yup. That's exactly why. Now I have to look in here, so maybe you should go play."

She smiled again. "Ok. I have my new toy anyway!" She held up a tiny bag and Dean felt his heart drop.

"Hey, uh, why don't you give me that. It's not a toy kid."

She frowned at it. "Well then what is it?"

"Just-just not a toy."

Olivia handed it to him carefully, and then gave him a curious look. "If it's not a toy why did mommy give it to me to play with?"

Dean's eyes cut towards the stairs and then back to Olivia. "I don't know. I have to go see my partner."

* * *

"That bitch was gonna off her daughter! That's a new low. Even for a witch."

Sam was staring at the hex bag with a thoughtful frown on his face. "She didn't strike me as the type Dean."

"Oh yeah? Then how'd the kid get it and why'd she say her mom gave it to her?"

Sam shook his head wearily and rubbed his eyes. "Her husband has a meeting at the firm tomorrow, and Olivia's in school. I guess we'll go after her then."

Dean could feel the scowl on his face, and when Sam saw it there was a flare-up of anger in return. "What Dean?"

"No, what you Sam. This is pretty open and shut. Her husband becomes the top dog if all those other guys die, and she gets all the attention and freedom if the kid is dead. What's the problem?"

Sam exploded upwards. "She didn't seem the type Dean! I won't argue that she's a gold-digger, but murder? It's a leap. You didn't even talk to her! You just stared at her ass for a few minutes and then came back and glared at her."

Dean gripped the gun he was cleaning tightly and tried to keep his voice level. "I don't need to talk to her Sam. I talked to her daughter. You know, the little girl who was _given a goddamn hex bag_."

He felt the look. Sam's bitch face at full strength. "I'm telling you Dean this is a mistake."

"And I'm telling you, this is-" he dropped the gun and snatched up his ringing phone.

"What?"

The voice on the other end was husky and quiet, but it dulled the sharp edge of his anger. "Hello to you too Sunshine. Bobby wanted to know where you're hiding the Allen Keys."

He rubbed briskly at his eyes and shot Sam a look before stepping outside. "They're in the third cabinet down in the garage. Tell him to look at the shelf under the sander."

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothing. You?"

He heard a low and raspy chuckle that made his knees wobble. "Same. Get back safe."

"Yes ma'am."

When he stepped back into the room Sam was hanging up his own phone. Dean knew the minute he saw him that Sam was feeling equal parts pride and guilt. This was going to be a catastrophe.

"That was the local sheriff. Sophie was just found dead."

* * *

The house was lit from every angle, and the entire police force seemed to be wading through it. Sophie's body had been found in her workout room. Dean took the lead to step into the crime scene. He couldn't help but notice the multitude of queasy looks on the cops around him, and it only took a glance to see why. Dean's eyes met Sam's over the grisly sight, and the look of grim confusion on his brother's face was enough to confirm his suspicions.

Sophie's head was five feet from her torso, her arms and legs ripped off just as casually and strewn about the room. Dean studied it carefully before turning to the sheriff. "Any ideas on a weapon?"

The sheriff averted his eyes from the scene and swallowed thickly. "None whatsoever. M.E. says that it doesn't look like a weapon. Looks like someone just…ripped 'em off. Damndest thing. Excuse me."

Sam slid over to Dean. "This doesn't make any sense man. Sympathetic magic doesn't look like this. It's subtle and symbolic. This is vicious."

Dean studied the position of the body and then looked around the room. "So who's our next suspect Sam?" His voice was low and tense, but he didn't really want to argue about it. There was a moment Dean knew all too well when a hunt turned just the right way and became _wrong_. When the pattern didn't add up, when their best suspect became the next victim, but most notably when more bodies dropped while Sam and Dean were there. It was the only time Dean knew of where he and Sam didn't fight, couldn't fight really, no matter how hard they tried. Sam's eyes roamed the room.

"The husband maybe? Aiden stands to gain from the other partners dying, and he didn't seem to get along too well with his wife. Maybe he gave her the first hex bag and she pawned it off on Olivia. Any of the house staff would have had access to her and Olivia, but not the office."

Dean rubbed his jaw and nodded to a green-faced young officer. "Let's go question him."

The sheriff was more than willing to let them sit down with Aiden and his daughter. Dean almost cursed out loud when he saw the man. He didn't need to ask him questions; he could tell from across the room that this guy wasn't their culprit. He'd seen that same shell-shocked look of grief on his own face too many times in the past months. He shared a look with Sam and then went in anyway.

The next fifteen minutes were spent with Sam asking gentle questions and Aiden shaking his head or sobbing. No one would have wanted to kill Sophie, everybody loved Sophie, she was so gentle, etc. Dean knew the lines like he knew Metallica lyrics, and he tuned out as he studied the room. Not a single picture of the little girl living with them. Not one. Something, some dim sense of intuition, was shouting out alarms, but before he could focus on it Sam was pulling on his arm and he was saying goodbye to the grief-stricken man and his daughter.

* * *

He watched Sam scan web page after web page out of the corner of his eye as he tried to track down the source of his disquiet. He jerked out of his stupor to see his brother shaking him and practically shouting his name. "What Sam?"

"You were completely zoned out Dean. What's going on?"

Dean frowned and gestured weakly. "Something's bugging me. Can't seem to put my damn finger on it though."

Sam 's expression mirrored his. "Tell me what started it. Let's put it together from there."

Dean rubbed frantically at his red and dry eyes. They'd been here four days and now there was another murder and he was floundering. "There are no pictures of Olivia in the sitting room."

He heard Sam spring up and scrabble across the room. His brother's fingers practically flew over the keys before he heard Sam's "a-ha" moment. When he looked up Sam was grinning broadly. "It's not just pictures Dean. It's everything. The girl has no birth announcement, she isn't in any of the photos in the papers, and there's no mention of her on Aiden's work biography. She doesn't exist."

Dean felt himself standing. "Sam, if she was a demon we'd sense her, and a spirit wouldn't use hex bags. What does that leave us?"

Sam's grin was almost feral. "A witch who wanted a rich family."

And despite the fact that they had their answer, Dean still felt that unease of a hunt gone terribly _wrong_.

* * *

He heard the snap of Sam's finger as Olivia bent back the little doll's digit. Sam's cry of pain stopped him in his tracks. Across the room Aiden was already limp and cold, lifeless, and his eyes stared heavily at Dean. Olivia's voice rose above the sound of his heartbeat roaring through his ears.

"One more step and I snap your brother's thick neck. Now get back against the door."

This was the moment Dean had been subconsciously waiting for. When all the elements of a bad hunt came together to be a spectacularly terrible fucking situation. Dean could shoot her, and he knew he'd drop her before her hand grabbed the doll's neck, but he was hesitating. Because she was a little girl. A freaky and terrible little witch, but a girl nonetheless, and Dean's training stated that humans, especially children, were supposed to be spared if possible.

"Ok. Put the doll down, I'll put the gun down, and we'll talk about this. Nice and easy."

She twitched and Dean fired. In the silence after the gunshot Dean heard something in his brain slam shut and lock, but his hands were perfectly steady as he slid the gun back into his pocket and approached the body to collect the Sam doll. He removed the sympathetic link, and held it out to Sam so that his brother could do the ritual to break it. When Sam opened his mouth Dean's look closed it instantly.

They rode to Macy in silence, and even the sight of Sariel standing on the porch in the autumn evening didn't do anything to break the emotionless stupor Dean found himself in. She took Sam's hand and studied the splinted finger before gently pushing his hair out of his face. Then she stepped up to Dean, and simply looked at him. Her gaze was assessing, calm, and he was glad when she didn't touch him. She simply gestured and he followed.

She watched him eat mechanically, watched him put away his weapons, and then watched him lay down. When his voice finally found the way out of himself it was gruff. "Not gonna say anything?" She shook her head. "Sam tell you all of it with your _special connection_?" Now his voice was vicious, and he didn't want it to be. He didn't want to hurt her, but Dean knew better than anyone that sometimes he was like a cornered animal. He'd bite any hand offered him.

"Yes." Her head tilted and then she looked down. "If you don't talk to me about it then you'll eventually have to discuss it with him."

Dean covered his face wearily. "Couldn't I just avoid this one?"

"No."

He surged upwards, rage suddenly breaking his emotional paralysis as he looked at her accusingly. "You've been back almost two months and you haven't said a damn word. We don't talk about that. Don't talk about our new hands-off policy. You wanna chat about that first or after we hash out me _ganking a fucking kid_?"

Her eyes remained on the floor. "First."

The red he was seeing wavered as he realized what he'd said. They had been careful since she woke up. At first because of her injuries and then, after one incredibly awkward moment when Dean refused her advances without explaining himself, by an unspoken agreement between them. It was something Dean couldn't express, that guilt that he was hurting her by taking his pleasure. She'd never asked him about it, and Dean wasn't the kind of guy to offer that sort of information. "Sariel. We don't need to-"

When she looked up the grey of her irises was the color of thunderheads. "If you do not find me too tainted I would like very much to make love to you again. What happened with Lucifer was hundreds of years ago Dean. I have had time to grieve it, to rage against it, and to accept it. It was a large step for me to bring you into my bed, and I have never regretted it. Not even when I found out about your trick. You are not him. You are not hurting me. Stop torturing yourself over it."

She stood and crossed the room so that she was standing a few steps away from him. Her shirt slid up and off with easy grace, and then she pushed her jeans and panties down and away and stood before him completely naked. When she knelt before him and began to unlace his boots his breath seized in his lungs. "You shot her." She removed his right boot and started on his left. "You killed her." The left one sailed across the room and clattered on the floor. "I know that. You know it." His socks followed and then she stood and pulled him up with her. "I also know if you hadn't have done that Sam would be dead. And you know what Dean Winchester?"

When she looked up to meet his eyes her hands unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans with ease and ferocity. There was hunger in her eyes, pleading, and a separate sense of loss Dean couldn't qualify properly. "I'm glad it was her instead. You protected Sam. That's what matters."

His jeans and boxers hit the floor, and then he was grabbing her hair and pulling her in. Pouring his grief and fury and self-hatred into her mouth as she fought to remove his shirt. He was hard and aching so quickly it made him dizzy. He pulled back long enough to let her rip his shirt off over his head, and then jerked her back in. He tasted blood as her teeth crashed into his lips, and then she was pushing them both backwards onto the bed. Her hands gripped his hips painfully, and he arched upwards against her to hear her moan into his mouth.

They moved across each other like animals, teeth and tongues ripping across flesh, he tasted the new scar across her breast and she bit into his hip and laughed low in her throat when he pulled her hair in warning. When he flipped her over and entered her she cried his name out in a harsh and broken voice. She lifted his scarred fingertips to her mouth and sucked on them before he lowered them to where they were joined and stroked her. Somewhere in the middle his pace slowed, and he was crying, but he was still moving. Searching for something he couldn't put his finger on until she pulled off of his cock and turned herself around, put her lips to his sternum and whispered that she loved him, that she wanted him, that he made her whole. He re-entered her and the pace changed again as he rushed her to climax.

His orgasm blinded him, and he slid out of her and went down pushing his tongue into her. He'd tasted himself once or twice by accident before, but this time he was desperate to taste the mixture of the two of them, to find real proof that he was a part of her, and that this bond wouldn't go away. She came again on his tongue, her already strained voice reduced to brokenly whispered pleadings and whimpers.

Dean held her tightly in the aftermath of their collision. He could see a length of bruises, bites, and hickeys they had left on each other. The room looked ransacked, and Dean couldn't find it in himself to care. She didn't speak, but her fingers traced his wedding ring and her eyes were a warm light grey when she looked up at him through lowered lashes. He put his lips against her hair and said the only thing he could force out. "I didn't have a choice."

She shook her head softly. "There's always a choice." Her voice was barely there, but he heard it in the silence of the room. "You made the right one."

* * *

She's sitting at the bar in the kitchen monitoring Sam as his little brother tosses fried rice in a wok. Dean knows they're sharing another silent conversation, and it really doesn't bother him anymore. That may have something to do with the fact that she'd tested the limits of his endurance the night before, or it may have to do with the slow sense of contentment Dean has found creeping up on him. It's the longest he's gone without a hunt in years, and the itch is only just beginning to emerge.

When the familiar tingle goes off she cuts her eyes to him, and he nods before pulling his gun. Dean has become a master of her version of non-verbal communication. He opens the front door to find Michael standing with a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label in each hand. He considers the big archangel for a moment, and then steps aside with one raised eyebrow. Sam is already setting another place at the table when they come back in, and he raises the same eyebrow at Dean when he sees what Michael is carrying.

The archangel sits at the table and lets Sariel put a glass of water in front of him. They eat silently, and when the meal is done Michael pours them each a healthy shot of the scotch before he finally breaks the silence. "To killing Lucifer." He toasts them and then downs his glass. Sariel's look is surprised, and Michael notices it. "The Word will understand."

She toasts him back, and Dean follows her example. Sam sips his. Michael pours another glass, and the four of them proceed to get drunk. Very drunk. When the Johnny Walker is gone Sariel dips into her stash. She disappears for a bit at some point, and Van Halen wails over the speakers when she comes back. She sits next to him and takes his hand. Michael watches them, and then points to their entwined fingers. His voice slurs badly. "That good?"

Sariel's look is pitying as she nods her head. She strokes Dean's fingers once before leaning forward to take another drink. "The best." Sam gives Dean a funny look, and Dean can't help but wonder if in her inebriation she's given Sam more than words.

Michael nods slowly and takes another drink. "Hunters though. Always one extreme or another. Self-sacrificing or complete survivalists. But always angry Sari. They've always been angry."

Dean feels the need to interject. "Hey man, we're right here. And we may be angry, but you guys are kinda dicks." He takes the blow in the side before running fingers through Sariel's hair and grinning at her. "Not you sweetheart." She seems pacified.

She catches Michael's eyes and speaks softly. "It was a good thing Michael. We did a good thing." Sam's mouth pulls into a sad frown. Just how much is her control slipping with Sam? Dean peers blearily to see this new bottle she's brought out is almost empty. How goddamn much have they drank?

His concern for the amount doesn't stop him from downing his glass and pouring himself another one. "You regret killing Lucifer?" He keeps it light and curious, but he's not sure if it's convincing.

Michael burps quietly and licks scotch off his lips. "I regret everything Dean Winchester. That's what being an archangel is these days."

Damn if Dean doesn't look at her to see if Michael is right, and she's looking down and frowning. "What's to regret?" His voice is wrathful, but the liquor has removed the part of him that holds that in. "He was pure evil. He deserved to die."

Sariel shakes her head and Michael pours the last of her whiskey bottle. Had they had that much? How were they still awake? Dean's head is dizzy just considering it. Michael finally speaks. "When we were created Dean we had a dream. Now what's left? The first are completely splintered. Gabriel is dead, Lucifer is dead, Sariel is crippled, and Yves is in the Pit. All because of people."

Dean goes to argue but Sam cuts in. Dean's happy to see his brother looks almost as offended as he is. "Well we worked with what your Word gave us."

Sariel holds out a hand and all three men stop to look at her. "We all had choices. When it came down to it we were in control of our actions. Pointing fingers isn't getting us anywhere."

Michael looks angry. "The Word abandoned you. Abandoned Lucifer. It had to have known what was coming and yet nothing was said or done. And all the while It kept telling us, 'love them, love them, they deserve it', but what did that get us?"

Dean leans towards Michael. "You're bitching a good deal there buddy, but I didn't see you on the front lines."

Michael stands, and his face is angry, but Sariel's next words send him back into his seat. "I don't regret it at all. I got to meet them." She gestures wildly at the two Winchesters, and Dean feels his fury turn to affection and pride. Sam's eyes shine with drunken tears.

Michael squints at her for a moment and then shakes his head. "Still, after all these years you have faith. I envy you Sariel." Michael closed his eyes for a moment and then finished his last glass. "Damn. I am a maudlin drunk."

Dean laughs till the world begins to spin. Somehow they end up outside, and Sariel in unconscious in the patio chair next to him as Sam lobs questions at Michael. The big archangel doesn't get pop-culture references or slang most of the time, so quite a few of the questions have to be reworded. Dean's drifting in and out of the conversation as he stares up at the stars.

He'd like to have fireworks. It's a beautifully clear night, and it's been ages since Dean and Sam set off fireworks. It's a good memory. Suddenly Sam's voice filters through his drifting. "-why she can't heal like the rest of you can?"

He turns his head to see Michael nodding seriously. "Sariel is terrible at healing. Always has been."

Sam leaned forward and gestured at nothing. "Yeah, but, why?"

Michael looked thoughtful, and then he leaned forward and drew a long line in the dirt of the planter beside the patio cement. At the beginning of the line he drew the Greek symbol for Alpha, and then he added a looped Omega at the end. "The Word is beginning and end. People got that right. Creation." He gestured to Alpha. "Destruction." He pointed to Omega. "Angels were created towards one end of the spectrum or the other. So I fall here." He pointed to a spot slight right of the middle, closer to the end line than the beginning. "I am a warrior. I deal in destruction, so I lean towards that side of the Word." He gestured along the line carefully and then drew a smaller line through Alpha. "Yves, the first of the first, is here. He cannot destroy, but he can create better than any of us. Healing is a form of creation."

He drew a line through Omega and then looked over at Sariel's sleeping form. "Sariel, the second of the first, is here. Destruction incarnate. She had to take another archangel to the Pit because she couldn't create it. She can't create. So when she tries to access healing songs the best she can do is minor scrapes and aches, but she can kill better than any of us." His look turned thoughtful and slightly sour.

Sam tilted his head and considered the line. "I don't see that. Her being destruction incarnate."

Michael nodded. "She's different now. You should have seen her when she slew Pandemonium."

Dean looked over at the slight form of Sariel, and then linked his fingers in her hand. Even in sleep she held onto him.

* * *

He's not laughing the next morning, when he finds a very large archangel suffering through his first hangover in the kitchen sink. Dean's eyes can barely open the sunlight is so bright, and he finds Michael's heaving to be the last straw for his crumbling resolve to not get sick. Michael peers blurrily up at him when he reenters the kitchen. "Is this what being human is like?"

Dean can't speak, the sound of his own voice may shatter his skull, so he gives a tentative nod and tries to remember what the first step to brewing coffee is.

Sam enters the kitchen and roughly pushes him out of the way so that he can put the filter in and pour the grounds. His brother looks worse than him, and he wonders about Sariel briefly before turning to Michael. He gathers his courage and pitches his voice low. "You've eaten before last night right?"

Michael's response is cautious and quiet. "Yes. I have inhabited this vessel many times and food is necessary."

Dean closes his eyes against the harsh light and listens to the sound of the coffee maker gurgling. "Well there's a great cure for a hangover. It's a greasy pork sandwich-" Michael leans back over the kitchen sink and Sam shoots him a glare. Which makes the resurgence of nausea worth it.

* * *

The redhead's name was Lori, and Sam married her four months after he finally told her what he did for a living. Dean was his best man. Sam and Lori were gone for a week on their honeymoon, and Dean took full advantage of the empty house and his voracious wife.

When Sam returned Sariel mentioned that she owned a total of twenty acres of land and that it could be built on. Sam's eyes gleamed.

Missions were few and far between. Yves kept the demons locked down in Hell for the most part, and Sam and Dean were left to finding hunts that went blessedly hell spawn free. When they came back from a particularly difficult one, a troll in North Dakota of all damn things, they found Lori in the kitchen with Sariel. In between the two women there was a pregnancy test, and Sam took one look at them and then swept Lori into his arms and danced her around the kitchen.

Dean met Sariel's eyes and smiled broadly.

* * *

Sam gets the call for help, but the baby is sick, and Lori isn't doing much better. He looks helplessly at Dean, but Dean already knows what needs to be done. "You stay Sammy. Family comes first. I can take Sariel to back me up."

Grey eyes glance up from the Beretta that she is cleaning and appraise him speculatively. Sam is too distracted with worry to put much thought into it. Dean's fairly concerned about the strain evident on Sam's face. "Thanks man. Thanks. I'm going back to the house." Once Sam is gone Dean catches Sariel's eyes again.

"Looks like we're going to Oregon."

Her grin is warm and understanding. "I'll try to keep up."

She packs carefully, her eyes following Dean's motions as she attempts to mimic them. He'd be amused if she didn't keep bending that way whenever she puts things in the bag. If she put it on the bed it would be level with her, but she doesn't seem interested. Finally Dean gives up and slides behind her as she bends over. "Ok, we'll postpone leaving. Tease."

"Sex fiend."

Their departure is three hours later than planned, and while the hunt goes well, and Dean can't complain about the time they spend cooped up in the tacky motel room, it's not quite the same without Sam in the passenger seat. Sariel seems to know this, and when they return she tells Sam about how Dean pined for him. Sam's laughter is good to hear.

* * *

"Uncle Dean!"

Dean dropped his duffel and let the two small bodies crash into him before reaching down to lift them both up. "Uncle Dean! Mommy said you were gonna grill, and Aunt Sari said she'd better go check her fire policy"

Dean shot Sariel a look from across the room, but she was already slipping away with a grin on her face. "Well your aunt is a crazy woman. I'm a master with that grill. No fires." He kissed first Mary's forehead, and then John's, before putting them both down. Sam came in behind him and was immediately attacked by the tiny whirlwinds.

When he reached the kitchen he slid behind Sariel and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Got you something."

He felt her hand slide up his thigh and cup his groin, and he went from half-hard at the touch to fully hard when her voice came out low and velvety. "You'd better wait till after the kids leave."

He bit into the side of her neck gently and listened to her moan. "Got you something in a store. Sam reminded me. Happy anniversary."

"It's our anniversary?" She made a noise when he growled and surged against her, and then turned around in his arms to smile up at him. "You're such a thoughtful lady Dean Winchester." Her smile was mischievous, and he spent precious minutes removing it.

* * *

Sam was staring at the grill when Dean came back from getting his beer. "Dean, man, this thing is broken." He gestured helplessly at the pilot light. Dean frowned at it.

"Sammy this is why you need a man working one of these things." He pulled a receipt from his wallet and twisted it tightly before lighting it. "See all you need is a little-"

The two of them stumbled backwards as a gout of flame blew upwards through the bars and into their faces. There was silence for a moment as the two brothers assessed one another. Singed eyebrows but no real damage. Dean found his voice. "How high did you have the damn gas?"

Sam swallowed. "Uh.." he glanced at the controls, "high."

Behind them Dean could hear Sariel laughing.

* * *

And that seems like as good a place as any to stop, because what comes next isn't necessary. The Winchesters have had enough of tragedy, and the last leg of their journey could go unnoticed. Could be replaced by this one image; two brothers with singed eyebrows and red faces, surrounded by light and laughter.


	14. Epilogue: See You On the Other Side

Disclaimer: I do not own anything within _Supernatural_. No copyright infringements are intended.

Epilogue: See you on the Other Side

"It's been a lifetime since I found someone/ Since I found someone who would stay/ I've waited too long, and now you're leaving/ Oh please don't take it all away"- "Before the Dawn" Judas Priest

Dean knows he's not supposed to train his niece for anything. Lori gave him permission to teach John as much as he wanted to learn, and John decided that wasn't much. Still, Mary has a look in her eyes sometimes that reminds Dean so much of himself he can't help it. So when his pretty little niece showed up in the woods with a gun she filched from her father's stash and a look of determination Dean tried to follow Lori's commandment. He gave Mary his best stern look and put his own gun down. To the left of them Sari sipped from her bottle of water and simply watched Mary's approach.

"Uncle Dean, Aunt Sari, I'm here to learn what you taught John."

Dean shot Sariel a glance, and she shook her head and stood facing their niece. Dean keeps his voice patient. "Mary, your momma is against you being a hunter."

Mary narrowed her eyes, and set her jaw. Thirteen going on thirty, and Dean was powerless against the fond affection he had for her. He gave Sariel another glance and she raised her hands helplessly. "Dean. You know what Lori said. She's-"

Mary cut in, and Dean knew that he was about to be hit with her secret weapon. The girl has a bad habit of ambushing him. "I don't want to hunt. I just want to be able to protect myself. Aren't you always the one saying the Winchesters are marked?" She raised plaintive eyebrows, and pouted slightly in Sam's old way, and Dean felt his resolve melting like butter. He looked to Sariel one last time.

"Dean Winchester. Only defense. Promise me." Her words are stern, but her eyes are lit from behind with delight. He's always wondered if she wanted children, but he knows damn well what kind of mother she would have made.

He holds up two fingers instead of three and gives her his most innocent face. Her snort of laughter is enough, and she slips past a bubbling Mary and through the edge of the trees. Dean can't help but watch her cross the tall grass towards the house for a few minutes, before a sharp finger in his ribs roused him from his trance. "Uncle Dean, stop being a perv and let's get started."

When he turned around Mary's face was bright, and he tried to remember how to look stern. "Alright, since you brought a gun let's see you take aim and shoot."

He crosses the small space and sets Sariel's water bottle up on a log before rejoining Mary. She's picked a snub-nose revolver, and Dean's glad her first lesson won't be avoiding a black eye or a broken wrist from the recoil on one of Sam's larger guns. She points the gun, squints her eyes, and then pulls the trigger. When the gun jumps she drops it and lets out a little screech. Dean's laughing before he can stop himself, and her response is a petulant version of embarrassment. "Well it's my first time!"

He held up both hands in surrender. "Ok, let's cover basics here. Do you know which one is your dominant eye?"

She roused herself from her funk and shook her head.

"Put your hands over each other like this and cross your thumbs so you got a little space in the middle there." He demonstrated and she mimicked. "Now hold them up and keep both eyes open. Look at the water bottle. You got it in your sight there?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod seriously and he couldn't help the smile. "Good. Now close one eye, doesn't matter which. Can you still see the bottle?"

"No sir."

"Well then your other eye is your dominant eye. That's the one you're gonna use to aim. Now let's discuss stance, and then we'll talk grip."

She looked at him for a long moment before her eyes narrowed. "When do I actually start shooting things?"

Dean's face became grim. "Hopefully never sweetheart."

* * *

Dean is forty-nine and Mary is sixteen when they are caught in the woods training for beheadings. Dean's learned in the last three years that Mary's reflexes are perfect for hunting. She's got the blood in her and Dean's conscience wars with his pride. She's a quick learner just like her father, and once she gets past the initial eagerness her maturity makes her an excellent student. Sometime in the first two years it has gone way past the point of defense, and Dean knows it, but it's good to have someone learning the trade. He doesn't tell Sam or Sariel.

She's just managed to get the hang of the angle of descent when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

"Mary what are you doing?"

When Dean turns Sam's face is wrathful. He knows from Sam's stance that he's in serious trouble.

"Uncle Dean is teaching me to protect myself Dad. You know, since you refused."

The look Dean shoots her expresses his surprise, and she's momentarily abashed before Sam is dragging her back into the fight.

"I refused because this isn't the life your mother and I want for you. Your Uncle knew that, and he and I will be talking about that fact right now. Go to your room. You're next." Sam's voice gives no quarter, and Mary drops the machete and storms off sullenly. When Sam turns his gaze on Dean there is only righteous anger. "Dean."

"Sam."

"You want to tell me why you ignored my wishes regarding _my_daughter."

It's a low blow, and Sam's face says he knows it. They're a tight family unit, and Dean has been a part of Mary and John's lives since the very beginning. Especially Mary. Still, Dean's never been one to back down from a confrontation with Sam.

"She needs to know how to protect herself Sammy. You and I both know what happens to a Winchester that isn't ready to fight."

"That time is over with Dean. God, I thought you'd be past all of this. The demons are almost completely contained, and nothing else is organized enough to be a threat to them if they stay off the radar. Why do you have to drag Mary into hunting?"

Dean clenches his fists for a moment and considers the dummy Mary was practicing on. "Sam, it can't hurt her to know how to protect herself."

Sam's sigh is patronizing, and Dean can't help but marvel at how quickly they fall back into this pattern after so many years of relative peace. "She doesn't want to protect herself she wants to hunt. She's sold you a line and you bought it Dean. Conned by a teenager."

Dean can't control his anger. "She's a damn kid Sam. I know what I'm teaching her. No lore, no cons, and no investigation. Just defense."

Sam points angrily at the dummy. "Defense? You're teaching her proper beheading techniques Dean. That's pretty damn offensive."

Dean holds up one hand and tries to swallow down his first response. "I'm not discussing this Sam. Go talk to _your _daughter. This'll never happen again."

He storms away from his little brother, and when he gets to the house he slams the kitchen door behind hi m and fists his own hair in a futile attempt to control his anger. When warm fingers disengage his grip he finds a pair of concerned grey eyes staring at him.

"What happened?" She smells like earth and flowers, and Dean is half tempted to drown his anger in her mouth before he shakes the desire out of his head.

"Sam happened." He steps past her to the sink, and turns on the water so he can wash his overheated face.

"Sam happened? What does that mean?"

Dean blotted the water off and met her eyes. It was only at the sight of her face, slowly dawning realization imminent, that Dean remembered he hadn't been entirely honest with her either. She covered her eyes and shook her head softly. "You were teaching Mary to hunt and Sam caught you."

He's in trouble everywhere, and his first response is still to jump to the defensive. "I taught her to be self-sufficient if something came up."

Sariel rubs her eyes tiredly before looking up at him. Her face is a familiar mix of exasperation and love. "Dean, you need to apologize to Sammy."

Dean grits his teeth. Logically he knows that he owes Sam an apology, but his blood is still boiling from the tone in Sam's voice, and the accusation that he didn't know Mary was playing him. "Yeah sure. I'll get right on that. Anything else?"

She watches him for a moment and then shakes her head and leaves him alone in the kitchen with his temper.

* * *

"Sariel." She's brushing her teeth with a grim fury when he steps behind her and watches her expression in the mirror. She's silent for a breath, and then she grunts an affirmation that she is not speaking to him.

"I'm sorry babe. I was mad at Sammy, and a bit at myself." He's embarrassed to apologize, but he knows he has to. She'll only let him get away with so much before she pulls up the walls and makes him vocalize his feelings. It's a trick he knows almost as well as he knows the curves of her body. Standing behind her he can see the difference they make in the mirror now.

She is still the same woman he met nineteen years ago, while he is just now visually reaching middle age. She wasn't kidding when she said they would age slowly, and Dean has often wondered what this will do to Sam regarding his family. Already Sariel has to avoid the people of Macy. This is past the point that she usually leaves a town, but they've settled here, and she's careful enough not to be spotted.

Dean himself has only just begun to see wrinkles creeping in, and he often asks himself just how long they're supposed to keep going. He never expected to make it to fifty, but now it's staring him down. His hand lowers gently to her hip, and he sees her eyes darken before she pointedly leans over and brushes his groin with her ass while spitting out her toothpaste.

"Gonna apologize to Sam?"

He grits his teeth, and his nod is terse, but he's definitely aroused. Her smile when she comes back up is too broad.

"When did I get pussy whipped?"

Her laugh finishes the job her deliberate brush against him started, and when he growls low in his throat he can almost see the pulse under her jaw quicken. "Shut up and take me to bed Dean."

And damn if he doesn't throw her over his shoulder and carry her to bed.

* * *

_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_

Dean is checking on Bobby's old house when the call comes. It has been seven years since his stunted apology to Sam, and the two of them have made some peace as long as Dean behaves and doesn't train Mary. It's a small price to pay for a truce between himself and Sam. Their hunts have slowed down, and they try to keep them to a confined area around Macy. Time is finally starting to catch up with both of them, and they realize that they are rapidly approaching an age when they should leave the more dangerous jobs to younger hunters. Sariel joins them on any mission Heaven throws them, and she's been a little too necessary recently for Dean's tastes. He loves his wife, but a man needs to be able to take care of himself, and Dean has never relied on her help more.

Sam never makes this trip with Dean if he can help it. Seeing Bobby's house without him in it is hard enough for Dean, but Sam's emotions make what has become a routine chore into a repeat wake. The weight of it is too much for them, and so they have wordlessly agreed to let Dean take care of the necessary check-ups. He's just finished making sure that the roof isn't leaking when his phone goes off, and he answers it carelessly as he peers at an old stain on the floorboards.

Her voice, sound-tracked by what sounds suspiciously like banging on metal, is urgent and terrified. "Uncle Dean, please, you gotta help me."

He feels his blood run cold at the sound of it. "Mary? Where you at sweetheart? What's happening?"

The banging sounds louder. "I went to Luverne to look into some vampires. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just wanted to be like you. There were too many of them and I'm trapped in an old silo outside of town."

And isn't this the way it always goes with Dean? Good intentions with terrible outcomes. Now his pretty little niece, who is supposed to be in her final years of college, is in serious trouble. All because she wanted to be like stupid fucking Uncle Dean.

"Tell me where. I'm only thirty minutes away Mare. Tell me where and how many."

He's already moving as he asks, his body carrying him to the Impala and starting it without considering. His mental road map is rolling out in front of his eyes as she describes where she started and how far she ran. She ends with, "There's three of them. Please Uncle Dean I'm so sorry."

"Apologize later. For now just stay put and safe. I'm not gonna let them hurt you."

Dean makes the thirty minute trip in fifteen.

* * *

Her count is tragically bad. There are eight of the damn things banging on the grain silo, calling out taunts and threats. He's in way over his head, and even at his best this is at least two vampires too many. He briefly considers calling Sam, but knows that there isn't enough time for Sam to get there. His best bet is to send Sariel the briefest of text messages. He cuts it down to _"Find me. Emergency."_and hopes that his wife will take it seriously. Her ability to sense him in trouble may take too long on its own. He drops the phone into the driver's seat of his impala, and then digs through the trunk for his best machete, the crossbow, and the old vial of dead man's blood. His only strategy is to try to cut through them and get into the silo to Mary. From there, although it hurts his pride, he's going to have to wait for Sariel. He picks the phone back up and calls Mary, hoping that the banging is enough to keep them from hearing him this far away.

"Uncle Dean. Oh god they're going to get in."

"Don't respond. I'm outside. Be ready to let me in."

He hangs up before he can say anything else. Talking right now is dangerous, and Dean knows that he has to keep his emotions down and move entirely off his instincts. He aims for the vamp in between him and the door, and lets the first bolt fly. Chaos descends on the angry group, and Dean uses it to his full advantage.

He manages to behead the first one to get in his way, and he can see the door cracking open before the claws catch him in the back. There's a moment, only a brief one, where he feels pain and a vicious heat, and then he's spinning and cutting off the second vampire's head before he staggers backwards through the door. Mary slams it shut behind him and pushes desperately at the big rusty metal bin she's using to barricade it.

Dean tries to go to her, but he's suddenly dizzy, and that's when the warmth in his back begins to really spread. He reaches back to touch it, and there's a flash of concern when he touches bone instead of ripped skin. His hand comes back around drenched in blood. Mary's face is so white she could be made of paper, and she catches him as he falls. She's not strong enough to hold him up, but he's propped against her as she examines the wound. Her cry of anguish is enough to let him know how bad it really is.

"Mary." His voice is weaker than he'd like, but gruff enough that she takes notice. "Your Aunt is coming. She's gonna get you outta here. You got me?"

Mary's sobs are hard for him to bear. He's loved this little girl since the first moment he saw her. Sam's teased him about it, argued with him about it, but they both know that Mary is Dean's kid as much as she is Sam's. He strokes her hand weakly. "It's ok sweetheart. It's ok. You're gonna be fine."

"Uncle…Dean…your back. Oh god I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please you gotta be alright. This is all my fault and I'm so sorry."

It's getting harder to focus on her words. Something is happening outside, and Dean can feel it and hear it, but he's not sure if it's good or bad. There's sure a hell of a lot of screaming going on.

"It's ok. My fault Mare. Mine. Shouldn'ta taught you this stuff. Shoulda warned you away."

He can feel her tears on his face, and then the screaming stops, and the door slams open. The sound of rusted metal screeching across the cement floor is temporarily deafening, and then through rapidly fading vision Dean sees his wife. Mary's gasp above him is shocked, and he wonders what it's like for her to see her Aunt as she really is for the first time. Sariel's wings are out, her eyes a silver so bright and hot they could melt the walls around her, and she is covered in blood. Her gaze lands on Dean, and he's suddenly less proud and more frightened. There are red flecks in her silver orbs, and he's momentarily reminded of Gabriel.

She drops her blades, steps through the door, and when the meager light catches her eyes again they are dark grey and her wings are gone. She hits the floor beside him with a bone-jarring crash, and he's suddenly in her arms as she examines his back. He hears the hiss of her breath and then she leans him back to look into his eyes. He wants to tell her everything he's thinking, wants to tell her how glad he is to see her, how glad he is Mary will be safe. He'd tell her, if he could, that he loves her, and that she's the best thing, the only thing, that ever consumed him outside of his own bloodline. But he knows his time is running out, and there's something else that needs to be said. He remembers what Michael told her after the battle in Hell. He knows from the anguish on her face what she'll do when he dies. He reaches up with what strength he has left and touches her cheek, letting his eyes say the rest while his mouth conveys what has always come first. "Sammy. Promise me."

He can't feel the concrete anymore, or her arms around him, but somehow he feels her lips as they touch his this last time. He tastes blood and tears, and knows that this is her way of responding to all the things he couldn't say. "Sam and John and Mary. I promise."

It's not fair. He knows how many loved ones she has buried before, and how long she's waited to be relieved of the burden of being flesh, of being away from Heaven. Now he is leaving her alone and forcing her to stay, but it has to be done. Someone has to protect Sam if Dean can't do it. He hopes she can forgive him. And then there is silence.

* * *

When Sam gets the call from Mary that there has been an incident, and Sariel is bringing her home, he feels his heart momentarily stop. He can't imagine what sort of trouble his daughter would get into that would require Sariel to fix it, but Dean is in Sioux Falls and Sariel can travel faster than Sam himself. He waits on the front porch, dreading the sight that will no doubt greet him when Sariel returns with his daughter. His only consolation is that Mary sounded alive, grief stricken but definitely alive. Lori is in St. Louis with John. John's wife is just a few days away from giving birth to his first grandchild, and Sam is supposed to be joining them soon. When the Impala roars up the driveway and stops Sam feels the ground drop out from underneath him.

He's moving so swiftly his feet don't seem to touch the flagstones, and when Mary staggers out of the passenger side covered in blood and sobbing Sam feels his heart clench and stutter. Sariel is driving. Sariel is driving Dean's car. Has Sam ever even seen her drive before? He suddenly can't remember.

_Where the fuck is Dean?_

Mary reaches for him, and then her hands move past him to her face and she's falling to her knees. Crying the way she did when she was only five and her pet rabbit died. The way she did when she fell off the monkey bars and broke her arm. He wants to go to her, but his eyes are riveted on Sariel as she slides out from behind the wheel of Dean's baby and steps to the back door. She has so much blood on her that it's hard for Sam to tell what color her clothes were before. She leans into the backseat, and tenderly removes a large bundle wrapped in a bloody blanket. She carries it forward, and Sam sees that her face is a blank slate. He can't speak, can't breathe, and his quick mind is already starting to tell him what she's holding in her arms.

He reaches out to her in their old way. _Sariel? Where's Dean?_ He desperately wants her to tell him he's finally pulls up even with him, and her eyes sweep down to the bundle in her arms. She tenderly pulls back the blanket, and he sees his brother's face framed by rough brown cloth. Dean's strong jaw is speckled by blood, but his expression is almost peaceful. The wrinkles he's begun to show have smoothed out, and in death he almost looks like a young man again. Sam still can't breathe.

_What happened?_

Her eyes never leave Dean's face. _We have to give him the proper rites Sam. I'll go wash him._

He can't help himself. He reaches out to stop her, and when her eyes sweep upwards he sees what he missed at first. The blankness is a mask covering something so deep and insane that Sam stumbles backwards from it before he catches himself. Dean is dead. She speaks again in his mind, and the sound of it is calm, even, and it chills him to the bone. _I have to wash him. Will you build your brother's pyre?_

The words are like a foreign language. Dean's pyre? What does Dean need with a pyre? They should be calling a demon. They should be making a deal. Then he remembers who they are, and that no demon will deal with them. _What about the angels? Can we call the angels? Bring him back?_

He sounds like a little boy, but that's ok, because he feels like a little boy. Little Sammy, who always needed his big brother Dean to watch out for him. Who will watch out for him now? She looks back to Dean's face. _They won't help._She steps past him, and carries Sam's dead brother inside. It's only after she's gone that he remembers his daughter crying on the ground, and he goes to her as slowly and carefully as he can, because suddenly he is made of glass, and the lightest collision will shatter him entirely.

"What happened?" He doesn't mean for it to sound so vicious, but he has an idea already, and he doesn't want it to be true.

Mary's eyes meet his, swollen and raw, and her voice is reedy and thin. "I wanted to hunt. I got trapped by vampires and I called Uncle Dean, but there were too many, and he…he…daddy!" Her arms are around him, and Sam is momentarily overwhelmed with the need to push her away. Dean is dead. He knows that this is not a good reaction. She is his daughter, and he'll forgive her eventually, but at this moment he has a pyre to build. A pyre for Dean. He feels a pit open in his chest, and knows it will never close.

"Ok. I need you to go to the house. Now." His voice is as modulated as he can make it, and he tries to be gentle when he disengages her from him.

Her eyes are wide and terrified. "Daddy? Daddy do you hate me?"

He can't look at her, can't see her grief without seeing Dean's blank face. Dean is dead. Everything comes back to that one little sentence. What good is a world without Dean? He forces the words out.

"No Mary I could never hate you. I just can't look at you right now. I have to build a pyre for my brother."

He pushes her away, and he's probably less gentle than he should be, but he has to cut the right size and number of logs. He leaves her crying on the cement.

* * *

He finds Sariel upstairs dressing Dean carefully in his father's old leather jacket. She doesn't look up at him. Her fingers move to the floor, and she lifts the amulet Sam gave Dean and hangs it around his brother's neck. Dean's face is still peaceful, and Sam thinks that the expression is wrong. Dean was never peaceful. Not really. His brother was all energy and passion. Everything he did was motion, and to see him still is so jarring Sam has to clutch at the doorframe to hold himself up. He watches Sariel lift Dean's scarred fingertips to her lips, and she kisses them before crossing his arms over his chest. When she begins to wrap him in the shroud Sam steps forward and helps her.

Her voice in his head is no longer calm. Despite the blankness of her face the sound of it is anguish itself, and Sam is strangely comforted. He knows that his family will grieve Dean but it won't be the same. Sariel is the only one who understands what has happened here. That the world is dimmer and bleaker now. That it will never be better.

_Dean is dead._

It's the same simple phrase he keeps tripping up on. The sky is dark and Dean is dead. Tomorrow he's supposed to drive to St. Louis and Dean will still be dead. His grandson is about to be born. Born into a world without Dean.

The shroud is wrapped, and Sam reaches for Dean before she can. His response is just as broken and anguished. _When will you join him?_

Bad enough to lose Dean, but Sam knows that Sariel won't stay without his brother. He's resigned to it, to losing the two people he's felt closest to in his whole life. She gave him the first home he ever really knew outside of Dean, but without his big brother she will be nothing. Sam has known since the beginning that she was made for Dean, that her devotion to him was all-consuming. She doesn't meet his eyes when he looks to her, and he follows her down the stairs and out to the pyre he's built. When he lays Dean down onto it he considers momentarily joining him. The three of them can just move on together. Her hand on his shoulder stops him, and when he turns he sees the grief and rage cramping her face. Her mask has broken.

It's always amazed him how much like Dean she can be when it comes to emotions. How long she can walk through pain before she breaks, and then breaks hard. It was always one of Dean's most admirable and annoying traits. Now she looks at him with no defenses, and Sam is overwhelmed by the love he feels for her. He wraps her in his arms and they weep together. Was she always this delicate and small? She finally answers him. _Dean made me promise. I'm to stay and care for you and your children. I'll go when my duty is done._

And isn't that so like fucking Dean? Suddenly Sam is angry at his brother. So angry he can't stand it. Dean has left him here. His daughter did this. Dean and his daughter and their stupid fucking crusades. Now what? Sam is condemned to another lifetime at least of a world without Dean, and Sariel is being sentenced to two or three. They've been abandoned.

Her fingers are there then, stroking the furrowed lines in his forehead, and her voice is back inside his head, still anguished, but calming. _Anger won't help Sam. _

And she's right, but it's hard to let go of the anger. It's too familiar, and so much easier than grief. The sight of his brother's shrouded body drains him of his fury, and he lets go of her to cross over to Dean. He speaks aloud. He hopes that Dean hasn't been reaped yet. That his brother can hear.

"Dean. I'm going to be a while, but when I get there you're gonna regret it. Dying was a shitty thing to do."

He's crying again, and his voice shakes with the force of it. "You saved my daughter man. Thank you. Thank you for everything." And after that what's left to say? Sam could talk for days. For years. He could tell Dean every good thing his brother ever did for him, recount every happy moment, and sing his praises till he ran out of breath. He could rage against Dean dying, against Dean's constant need to sacrifice himself for Sam with no concern for how it left Sam or those around him. But what's the point? If Dean can hear them then he knows it all. Sam steps back to give Sariel room.

She's standing over Dean, and her wings are out, but tucked firmly against her body. Sam can't help but think she's using them to hold herself in. Her voice shakes as she touches Dean's head and makes the sign of the cross. "This was a Soldier of the Word. He was a good son, brother, uncle, friend, and husband. He was a hero. Accept him into Heaven, and show him Grace. In Nomine." Then she leans down, and Sam watches with fresh tears as she kisses Dean's head one last time. He's been able to watch her around Dean for a long time, and he's seen what he knows even Dean has missed. She has been alive for billions of years, and nothing has ever been as precious to her as his big brother. He can sympathize.

When she steps back and begins to sing he's momentarily paralyzed. There are no words, but the sound is heartbreaking and clear. Sam remembers how she once told him that everything that existed had a song unique unto itself, and that archangels knew them all. She is singing Dean's song. Sam knows it without asking. It is fierce and sad at the same time, utterly passionate, and alive, and uniquely Dean. He salts his brother's body, pours the gasoline, and commits Dean to the flames.

* * *

_St. Louis, Missouri_

Dean has been dead for a week. Sam still cannot look at Mary. Can't bring himself to touch her. Lori understands, but she can't hide the fact that she wants Sam to forgive their daughter. He's grateful that she doesn't push. Sariel has come to St. Louis with him for the birth of his first grandchild, and he watches John's face crumple into tears when he's told the news about his uncle. Sam didn't want to tell him this close to the blessed event, but every line in his face speaks of his grief, and his sensitive son can't help but see it. Sariel is back behind her walls. She holds her nephew while he grieves, but she doesn't join him.

John's wife gives birth to a healthy baby boy via cesarean section, and John names him Dean without consulting her. Sam imagines when she wakes this will cause an argument. John is the first to hold the baby and then he hands the tiny bundle to Sariel. Sam watches as her fingers stroke the little face, and his grandson stops crying instantly. There is a spasm of anguish in her eyes, and then he hears her voice in his head. It's the first communication she's given since she sang Dean's song. _Sam, John, Mary, Dean._

He wants to stop her before it's over but he knows he can't. She's adding to her sentence, and it reminds him so much of his brother that he's blinded by tears but he's grateful through his grief. When he holds his grandson for the first time he kisses the baby's head, and then sends a thought back to her. _He would be so proud._

She nods silently.

* * *

When Dean, and god it's hard for him to think of that name and this little boy, is old enough to begin speaking his first word is a plaintive "Sari" as he stares at Sariel's solemn face. She lifts him carefully, and then holds him long after he's fallen asleep.

His grandson follows her everywhere, and he can't help but smile at the devotion there. As the years rocket by it becomes a pale imitation of the look Dean so often gave her, and she accepts it without a word. When Dean hits adolescence the devotion changes, and Sam sees the spark in the back of his grandson's eyes. Dean is training, Dean is growing, and he looks so much like Sam's brother that it hurts him sometimes. The same green eyes, same strong Winchester jaw, and the same defiant recklessness coupled with Sam's height and darker hair. He's not sure how much is honest, and how much is mimicry.

The years fly by. John dies of a heart attack. It's sudden, and Sam doesn't know how to handle it. His grandson responds by pushing his mother till she lets him move in with Sariel. Lori's grief is stronger than his, and she follows her son shortly afterwards. The rift between himself and Mary has healed, and she's married and given birth twice. Dean, the new Dean, is learning to hunt, and Sam doesn't try to stop him. The Winchesters have always rebelled against authority, and Sam can't help but wonder if his Dean would still be alive if he'd just let Mary go her own way.

Guilt though is useless. The ache that's left behind inside of him has never fully healed. He'd feel weak about it, but Sariel is right there with him. She's acted as the protector of the Winchester family all this time, but it is her role as the keeper of all things Dean that Sam appreciates most. He has to continue smiling and living for his family, but Sariel can keep the anguish alive for both of them. She can be broken in a way Sam can't afford. It hurts him to see it, but it comforts him to know that he's not alone in this feeling. He offered for her to stay with them, but she refused. She's always there though, in the background of their lives, and Sam makes it a point to spend time with her so that she doesn't become a living ghost. She never speaks to Sam aloud, and what little communication they have is entirely through his gift.

* * *

Three days after Dean finishes high school he sits in the kitchen with Sam and studies the wood grain of the table. Sam may be old, but he's still as sharp as he always was, and he knows what his grandson is going to say before he says it. "Grandpa, I want to be a hunter like Great Uncle Dean."

He nods carefully before he speaks. "You'll need a partner."

"I've spoken to Sari." There's a pause in his voice here, a hesitation before he picks the name he wants to call her, and it's never been more clear to him that this Dean loves her almost as much as the original. "She's agreed to go with me."

Sam studies his hands. They are still steady and large, but wrinkled now and spotted. Aging, even as slowly as he has, is a rough business. "Then you should be fine. She'll take good care of you."

Dean hesitates, and when he looks up the expression is more John's than his great uncle's. "Grandpa, why does she only speak to me?"

Sam can't help the small laugh. It's not exactly true, but it's damn close. There's no one left that knows the long pauses, the looks he and Sariel share, are a communication all their own. Still, Dean is the only one who hears her voice anymore. "She doesn't have anyone else she wants to talk to." It's true enough.

Dean's face flushes momentarily, and then he hardens it into a cocky grin that's so familiar it hurts Sam to see it. "One day I'm gonna make her laugh the way she is in the picture on the mantle."

Sam knows that this will never happen, but he lets it go. He wants this Dean to dream in a way his brother never could.

* * *

Sam is ancient. At least it feels that way. He has outlived his brother, his wife, and both of his children. He's finally dying, and it's a relief. His grandchildren and great-grandchildren have come to say goodbye, and he listens to them each in turn. Sariel stands at the back of the crowd of Winchesters with heavy eyes, her arms crossed under her breasts and her face grim. Dean stands beside her. He has grown into his great uncle's reputation. Sam is proud of him, and despite the trouble he knows his grandson has gotten into Sariel has always been there to pull him out of danger. Dean says goodbye to him with tears in his eyes, and then Sariel steps through the crowd and kneels beside his bed. He's too weak to speak to her, but he watches as she lifts his gnarled hand to her smooth young lips and kisses it. He can manage their old way though. There's still that much left in him. _I want you to promise me something._

She catches his eye and he sees her fear. He feels guilty at the sight of it, but he continues onwards. _Promise me when your vow is fulfilled you'll come to Heaven. You'll join us._He doesn't have to clarify who us is. She knows, and her eyes brighten momentarily before she lowers her lashes and hides them.

_I promise._ She squeezes his hand once and then kisses his forehead. _Tell him I love him Sammy. Good journey._Sam knows she'll give him a hunter's burial after everyone has left. That she and Dean will do right by him, and for a moment he longs to hear what she will sing when he dies. To see his grandson's face when he hears her voice form melody for the first time. But Sam is going, and there's no more fight in him to try and stay once the Reaper comes. He closes his eyes and falls asleep for the last time.

* * *

He hears the voice he's longed for. "Rise and shine Sammy."

When his eyes open he's in the bed in Macy. The room is just as he remembers it. The walls are lined with books and salvaged photographs. The computer hums happily on the table across from him, and Dean is standing over his bed. His Dean. Dean the original. Sam is out of the bed before he can consider his aching joints, but damn if they don't ache anymore. He wraps his arms around Dean and cries, and knows from the shake of Dean's shoulders that his brother is doing the same. When he pulls back it's the Dean he traveled with for so long. Dean at thirty, and still so full of grace and fight. They are young again. His brother's grin is almost blinding.

"You finally made it. How long did you hold on down there?"

Sam can't speak for a moment, and then his fist is flying through the air and catching Dean on the jaw. When his brother recovers from the blow Sam pulls him into another hug. His mouth can't stop moving now. "You bastard. You self-sacrificing bastard. How I have fucking missed you and your fucking cocky grin."

Dean doesn't seem to begrudge him his anger, instead his brother holds him tightly and then steps back to eye him speculatively. One eyebrow cocked, head slightly tilted, it is Dean's best what-the-hell-Sam look. "Seriously dude, how long were you down there?"

"Long enough."

Dean's eyes travel the room, and then he grins carelessly. "Well Sam, let me show you Heaven."

* * *

There's not much to show. Dean explains to him that for the most part Heaven is a series of places built to each person's specifications. Here Sam sees the house in Macy, and outside it is night, and the moon shines brightly on snow. Just past the tree line outside the kitchen window he can see a curl of smoke that indicates someone is burning a fire in his fireplace. He turns his eyes towards Dean. "So is that Lori over there?"

There's a slight dimming, and Dean's grin turns down a notch. "Not exactly Sam. We've been given special permission to share spaces, but Lori has her own place. Not everybody's version of Heaven is the same, so they give everyone pieces of each other. You might think Heaven is this, with Lori right after the kids were born, but Lori might choose later or earlier. So you each get your own version."

Sam chews on this for a moment before nodding. He looks around the kitchen thoughtfully. He can't help but notice that Dean has chosen a time after John and Mary came into their lives, despite his room still being intact. He sees pictures of them as small children, but none beyond that. He can smell Sariel's roast in the oven, and he remembers suddenly that he has left her behind. He turns back to Dean. "Where's your piece of Sariel?"

Dean's smile disappears completely. "I sent her away. The food just sort of shows up."

Sam is momentarily speechless. His brother's face is the picture of guilt, and he can't seem to process what Dean has said properly. "Why would you do that?"

Dean looks away for a moment, and then rubs his jaw. The gesture is heartbreakingly familiar. "It wasn't real. There's no part of her here to share. Hey Sam, was she angry?" His brother's look is almost fearful.

Sam can't help the hesitation on his face, and Dean sees it for what it is. "Speak up Sammy. What happened?" His voice is demanding and gruff.

Now he's rubbing his neck as he avoids his brother's gaze. "She agreed to protect one more Winchester. John's first kid. Named after you, decided to be a hunter. She's coming after he passes."

Dean's chuckle is low and gruff. "Sounds like her. What's he like?"

Sam feels the soft smile on his face. "A lot like you. Styled himself that way you know? He's in love with her, but she's not interested."

When he looks up Dean's face is amused. "Well of course he is. Now you wanna tell me what you're hiding Sammy?"

He isn't sure how to put it without hurting Dean. He swallows thickly, and then plunges forward. Dean hasn't always appreciated brutal honesty, but there's no better way to deal with it. "You've been gone over forty years Dean. She hasn't laughed a single time. In fact, other than to him, she doesn't speak. She just waits."

Dean's face cramps brutally with grief, and Sam is around the counter and holding his brother before his brain kicks in. Dean should feel bad after all, he made her promise it in the first place, but that doesn't change the fact that it still hurts him to see his brother hurting. Dean composes himself slowly, and when he's in control again he gently disengages from Sam. "You should go see your house Sam. I'd like a little time."

Sam doesn't argue.

As soon as he crosses past the willow Dean and Sariel married under the sun begins to shine and the snow is gone. His house is just as he remembered it, and John and Mary greet him at the door while Lori shouts from the kitchen. It is sweet, but Sam knows he won't stay long. He has a vigil to keep.

* * *

He's not sure how long he's been there, as Dean's landscape is always nighttime and always snowy. He and Dean spend their days together, and his nights are spent at home with his family. He tells his brother all the stories he missed, and he's glad that most of them are happier than the others. Dean listens raptly, and nods, but his fingers drum his knees and he's a bundle of nervous energy.

And then one day they're sitting in the dining room cleaning guns when the end of their vigil comes. It's a soothing activity, one Sam has done with his brother hundreds of times, and Sam isn't surprised that it's necessary. Dean's Heaven includes hunting, and Sam finds that he's just as happy for the activity as his brother is. He hears the clatter of metal against wood, and when he looks up from the disassembled rifle he sees what has Dean's fingers turning nerveless.

Sariel is standing in the doorway. Her grey eyes are absorbing the sight of them there, and there's no telling how long she's been watching them. Sam watches Dean's face cycle through guilt and remorse into love and desperation. His graceful brother stumbles up and trips over the chair before catching himself and rushing towards her. He's surprised to see that Dean stops right before he reaches her, and something passes between them that he can't exactly read. Her smile is radiant as she nods and holds her arms out, and Dean is swinging her up into his grip. Sam feels the grin splitting his face and Sariel wraps her legs around Dean's waist, and presses her face into his brother's neck while Dean holds her up and against him. He can see the tears on her face when she lifts it up, and the same shine in Dean's eyes. Dean is rambling, his voice broken and warm all at the same time as his older brother helplessly pours out all his guilt and love. Sam's never seen Dean like this, and all he can do is watch in fascination.

When they kiss Sam hears the stereo kick on, and he recognizes the Tool song he played to lead them out of Sariel's nightmare. The song she once told him always made her think of Dean. When she finally pulls back she grips Dean's chin tightly, and Sam hears her real voice for the first time in years. "I love you too. Now let me go hug Sam."

Dean releases her reluctantly, and then she's moving forward, and Sam is meeting her in the middle. They hold each other tightly.

* * *

"It's not real." Sariel is leaving and Sam is watching Dean twitch as he stands in front of the door. She looks up as she tightens her ponytail. Dean waits a moment and then speaks again, and Sam sees that his brother is fighting for words he's never been good at sharing. "I want to go with you to earth. Where I'm helping real people. "

She bites her lip and glances at Sam before turning her attention back to Dean. "I'm only going to speak to Dominic. I'm not going to earth."

Dean rubs at the back of his neck and tries to find a way to express himself. "This is great, but I want to help real people. Do ya get that?"

She speaks slowly and loudly. "I'm supposed to be discussing a group of troublesome Ophanim with Dominic. At this very moment. "This will be the third time they've had this argument, and Sam has stopped intervening. There's no moving either of them.

"I know what you're doing, but couldn't you talk to the Word and just…I dunno, suggest it?" Dean's eyes have narrowed and his voice has that tight edge that Sam knows is the prelude to shouting.

"Step. Away. From. The. Door." Dean moves and she's out into the moonlight before Dean can say anything else. He throws his hands up and gives Sam an aggrieved look, but Sam knows better than to speak.

When she gets back her face is serious and slightly grim. "We've gotten permission to go to earth."

Dean's grin lights up the room, and despite her scowl Sam knows she's as glad to see it as he is.

* * *

They're on earth. There's no noticeable transition other than the loss of walls and the sudden gain of open plains. Sam thinks he should feel nauseous, but there's no feeling. He can see through himself to the ground, and Dean is beside him looking around like a kid on his first trip to the zoo. This is when Sam notices the man in front of them. He's slim and serious, and he's making two people shaped dolls out of mud. One is taller than the other, and he seems to be having trouble with it. He sculpts a bicep with dirty fingers, then frowns and changes its definition. When he looks up at the two of them the frown is still there. "Sam hold out your arm."

Sam obeys without thinking, but shoots Dean a what-the-fuck look, because this is officially odd. He can't help but notice Sariel is nowhere in sight. The man on the ground finishes the bicep and then stands and brushes mud off his pants. Sam sees the white collar and is amazed to see the priest reach up and loosen it before rubbing a muddy hand over his brow. "Ok guys. Hop in." He gestures to the mud dolls.

Dean is the one to break the silence. "Hop in? What?"

The man frowns at him. "Hop in. You need vessels, and I'm not risking two mortals for your shenanigans. Get in the damn vessels." It's not exactly how Sam remembers priests talking. He steps forward hesitantly, sees Dean try to stop him, and then steps firmly into the larger mud man.

Having a body again is odd. Finding that once he stands it's his own body is even stranger, but Sam can feel the familiar planes of his face and the firmness of his own abs. Was it that different in Heaven? He can't see Dean anymore, but seconds later the shorter mud doll is vibrating and then it is Dean. Dressed like always, scowling up at the sky, and looking for all the world like he's the butt of the biggest joke in history but he can't escape it before the punch line comes. Dean's voice is gruffer than usual. "I'm made of mud now?"

The priest reaches out a hand and Dean ignores it. "Yes. Don't worry you'll hold together. Now come on." He walks away before either brother can respond. Sam isn't surprised when Dean follows, and he watches his brother glance over his shoulder with an excited grin. Dean's always been good at bouncing back from surprises fairly quickly.

"Hey! Father! You see an angel around here? She's about this tall and smoking hot?" Dean is gesturing as he jogs to catch up, and Sam uses his long legs to cover the ground at twice Dean's speed. They catch up with the priest as he opens the door to a truck and looks under the driver's seat for something. When he comes up there are keys in his hand, and he hands them to Dean. Then he does the unthinkable, and leans in to kiss Dean gently on the mouth. Dean is pinwheeling backwards and spluttering before he throws a punch, but the priest catches it easily.

"Dean. Calm down. This is my vessel." The priest grins broadly, and for a moment his eyes shine silver. "Now let's hunt."

She drops Dean's hand and climbs into the middle of the bench seat before patting the driver's seat. Dean stands perfectly still and stares with his jaw hanging, and then he glances once at Sam before looking back to her. "You did this on purpose didn't you? As punishment."

But Dean is climbing into the driver seat as he complains, and there's a slightly manic grin of excitement on his face as he starts the truck and Sam jogs around to the other side to climb in. Sariel grins and speaks through her borrowed vocal chords. "Let's just get this show on the road. Which is North of here by the way." She cuts silver eyes to Sam and grins. _He's right._

Sam's laughter drowns out the sound of Dean searching radio stations for classic rock.

* * *

**A/N: I had a great moment with my husband when the Winchesters went to Heaven where I got to point and say "I kinda wrote that same thing!" It's the sad condition of a lover of literature, and especially a student of it, that certain recognizable patterns often kill surprises. In this case though it was just a happy coincidence. I've been working on a side story that is mostly Sariel's POV, and I'll be putting it up in drips and drabs. If you're interested. ;) Now if only Season Seven would come out on Netflix! Thanks for reading!**


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